DOWN-ADOWN-DERRY 


miTER  DE  LA  MAKE 


II 


Digitized  by  the  Internet  Archive 

in  2007  with  funding  from 

IVIicrosoft  Corporation 


http://www.archive.org/details/downadownderryboOOdelaiala 


DOWN-ADOWN-DERRY 


DOWN-ADOWDERRY 


A  BooK  of  Fairy  Poems  by 

miTER  DE  LA  MARE 

with  Q  niustrations   a   by 

DOROTHY  P.  LATHROF 


NEW   YORK 
HENRY  HOLT  AND  COMPANY 


COPYRIGHT.  1922. 

BY 

HENRY  HOLT  AND  COMPANY 


PRINTED   IN   U.  S.  A. 


stack 
Annex 

6607 


CONTENTS 


PAGE 

Fairies 

The  Fairies  Dancing 3 

Dream-Song 4 

A-Tishoo 7 

The  Double 8 

The  Unfinished  Dream 11 

The  Horn 14 

The  Three  Beggars 17 

The  Stranger      20 

The  Ruin 23 

The  Fairy  in  Winter 24 

Sleepyhead 27 

Sam's  Three  Wishes:  or  Life's  Little  Whirligig  29 

Peak  and  Puke 39 

The  Changeling 41 

Lob  Lie  by  the  Fire 45 

Bluebells     .' 48 

The  Honey  Robbers 51 

Berries 55 

Happy,  Happy  It  Is  to  Be 58 

The  Midden's  Song 63 

All  But  Blind 64 

The  Mocking  Fairy 69 

Down-Adown-Derry 70 

V 


vi  CONTENTS 

PAGE 

Witches  and  Witchcraft 

The  Hare 76 

I  Saw  Three  Witches 79 

The  Isle  of  Lone 81 

Sunk  Lyonesse  . 86 

Sleeping  Beauty 89 

Bewitched 91 

The  Enchanted  Hill 93 

The  Ride- By-Nights 97 

Off  the  Ground 99 

Sadly,  O,  Sadly 105 

The  Dwarf 109 

Longlegs 112 

The  Mermaids 116 

The  Little  Creature 119 

Sam 121 

The  Witch 125 

The  Journey 129 

As  Lucy  Went  A- Walking 134 

The  World  of  Dream 

Beware! 140 

Some  One 143 

Music 147 

Haunted     149 

They  Told  Me 151 

The  Sunken  Garden     153 

Snow 155 

The  World  of  Dream 159 


CONTENTS  vii 

PAGE 

Queen  Djenira 162 

Nightfall 165 

Cumberland •  167 

The  Little  Green  Orchard 171 

The  Truants 173 

The  Little  Salamander 177 

Voices      178 

Sorcery 1^1 

Melmillo     187 

The  Quiet  Enemy     188 

Mistletoe 191 

Not  I 195 


FAIRIES 


DOWN-ADOWN-DERRY 


THE   FAIRIES   DANCING 

I  HEARD  along  the  early  hills, 

Ere  yet  the  lark  was  risen  up, 
Ere  yet  the  dawn  with  firelight  fills 

The  night-dew  of  the  bramble-cup,  — 
I  heard  the  fairies  in  a  ring 

Sing  as  they  tripped  a  lilting  round 
Soft  as  the  moon  on  wavering  wing. 

The  starlight  shook  as  if  with  sound, 
As  if  with  echoing,  and  the  stars 

Prankt  their  bright  eyes  with  trembling  gleams 
While  red  with  war  the  gusty  Mars 

Rained  upon  earth  his  ruddy  beams. 
He  shone  alone,  low  down  the  West, 

While  I,  behind  a  hawthorn-bush. 
Watched  on  the  fairies  flaxen-tressed 

The  fires  of  the  morning  flush. 
Till,  as  a  mist,  their  beauty  died. 

Their  singing  shrill  and  fainter  grew; 
And  daylight  tremulous  and  wide 

Flooded  the  moorland  through  and  through; 
Till  Urdon's  copper  weathercock 

Was  reared  in  golden  flame  afar, 
And  dim  from  moonlit  dreams  awoke 

The  towers  and  groves,  of  Arroar. 


DOWN-ADOWN-DERRY 


DREAM-SONG 

Sunlight,  moonlight, 

Twilight,  starlight  — 
Gloaming  at  the  close  of  day, 

And  an  owl  calling, 

Cool  dews  falling 
In  a  wood  of  oak  and  may. 

Lantern-light,  taper-light, 

Torchlight,  no-light: 

Darkness  at  the  shut  of  day. 

And  lions  roaring, 

Their  wrath  pouring 
In  wild  waste  places  far  away. 

Elf-light,  bat-light. 

Touchwood- light  and  toad-light, 
And  the  sea  a  shimmering  gloom  of  grey. 

And  a  small  face  smiling 

In  a  dream's  beguiling 
In  a  world  of  wonders  far  away. 


3n^V-'--i.=:  i  ":'i  ■■■■. 

SS''-'..'!.>-v. .'.■■"■•••-..'  ■• 


A-TISHOO 

"Sneeze,  Pretty,  sneeze.  Dainty, 
Else  the  Elves  will  have  you  sure, 

Sneeze,  Light-of-Seven-Bright-Candles, 
See  they're  tippeting  at  the  door; 

Their  wee  feet  in  measure  falling, 

All  their  little  voices  calling, 

Calling,  calling,  calling,  calling  — 
Sneeze,  or  never  come  no  morel" 
"A-tishooI" 


DOWN-ADOWN-DERRY 


THE   DOUBLE 

I  CURTSEYED  to  the  dovecote. 

I  curtseyed  to  the  well. 
I  twirled  me  round  and  round  about, 

The  morning  sweets  to  smell. 
When  out  I  came  from  spinning  so, 

Lo,  betwixt  green  and  blue 
Was  the  ghost  of  me  —  a  Fairy  Child  — 

A-dancing  —  dancing,  too. 

Nought  was  of  her  wearing 

That  is  the  earth's  array. 
Her  thistledown  feet  beat  airy  fleet 

Yet  set  no  blade  astray. 
The  gossamer  shining  dews  of  June 

Showed  grey  against  the  green ; 
Yet  never  so  much  as  a  bird-claw  print 

Of  footfall  to  be  seen. 

Fading  in  the  mounting  sun 

That  image  soon  did  pine. 
Fainter  than  moonlight  thinned  the  locks 

That  shone  as  clear  as  mine. 
Vanished!    Vanished!    O,  sad  it  is 

To  spin  and  spin  —  in  vain; 
And  never  to  see  the  ghost  of  me 

A-dancing  there  again. 

8 


DOWN-ADOWN-DERRY 


THE  UNFINISHED   DREAM 

Rare-sweet  the  air  in  that  unimagined  country 

My  spirit  had  wandered  far 
From  its  weary  body  close-enwrapt  in  slumber 

Where  its  home  and  earth-friends  are; 


11 


DOWN-ADOWN-DERRY 

A  milk-like  air  —  and  of  light  all  abundance; 

And  there  a  river  clear 
Painting  the  scene  like  a  picture  on  its  bosom, 

Green  foliage  drifting  near. 

No  sign  of  life  I  saw,  as  I  pressed  onward, 

Fish,  nor  beast,  nor  bird. 
Till  I  came  to  a  hill  clothed  in  flowers  to  its  summit, 

Then  shrill  small  voices  I  heard. 

And  I  saw  from  concealment  a  company  of  elf-folk 

With  faces  strangely  fair, 
Talking  their  unearthly  scattered  talk  together, 

A  bind  of  green-grasses  in  their  hair, 

Marvellously  gentle,  feater  far  than  children. 

In  gesture,  mien  and  speech. 
Hastening  onward  in  translucent  shafts  of  sunshine. 

And  gossiping  each  with  each. 

Straw-light  their  locks,  on  neck  and  shoulder  falling. 

Faint  of  almond  the  silks  they  wore. 
Spun  not  of  worm,  but  as  if  inwoven  of  moonbeams 

And  foam  on  rock-bound  shore; 

Like  lank-legged  grasshoppers  in  June-tide  meadows, 

Amalillios  of  the  day, 
Hungrily  gazed  upon  by  me  —  a  stranger. 

In  unknown  regions  astray. 

12 


DOWN-ADOWN-DERRY 

Yet,  happy  beyond  words,  I  marked  their  sunlit  faces, 
Stealing  soft  enchantment  from  their  eyes, 

Tears  in  my  own  confusing  their  small  image, 
Harkening  their  bird-like  cries. 

They  passed  me,  unseeing,  a  waft  of  flocking  linnets; 

Sadly  I  fared  on  my  way; 
And  came  in  my  dream  to  a  dreamlike  habitation, 

Close-shut,  festooned  and  grey. 

Pausing,  I  gazed  at  the  porch  dust-still,  vine-wreathed, 

Worn  the  stone  steps  thereto, 
Mute  hung  its  bell,  whence  a  stony  head  looked 
downward. 

Grey  'gainst  the  sky's  pale-blue  — 

Strange  to  me:  strange.  ... 


13 


DOWN-ADOWN-DERRY 


THE   HORN 

Hark!  is  that  a  horn  I  hear, 
In  cloudland  winding  sweet  — 

And  bell-like  clash  of  bridle-rein, 
And  silver-shod  light  feet? 

Is  it  the  elfin  laughter 

Of  fairies  riding  faint  and  high, 
Beneath  the  branches  of  the  moon, 

Straying  through  the  starry  sky? 

Is  it  in  the  globed  dew 

Such  sweet  melodies  may  fall? 
Wood  and  valley  —  all  are  still, 

Hushed  the  shepherd's  call. 


14 


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THE  THREE   BEGGARS 

'TWAS  autumn  daybreak  gold  and  wild, 

While  past  St.  Ann's  grey  tower  they  shuffled, 
Three  beggars  spied  a  fairy-child 
In  crimson  mantle  muffled. 

17 


DOWN-^ADOWN-DERRY 

The  daybreak  lighted  up  her  face 

All  pink,  and  sharp,  and  emerald-eyed; 
She  looked  on  them  a  little  space, 
And  shrill  as  hautboy  cried:  — 

"O  three  tall  footsore  men  of  rags 

Which  walking  this  gold  morn  I  see, 
What  will  ye  give  me  from  your  bags 
For  fairy  kisses  three?" 

The  first,  that  was  a  reddish  man, 
Out  of  his  bundle  takes  a  crust: 
"La,  by  the  tombstones  of  St.  Ann, 
There's  fee,  if  fee  ye  must!" 

The  second,  chat  was  a  chestnut  man, 

Out  of  his  bundle  draws  a  bone: 
"Lo,  by  the  belfry  of  St.  Ann, 
And  all  my  breakfast  gone!" 

The  third,  that  was  a  yellow  man. 
Out  of  his  bundle  picks  a  groat, 
"La,  by  the  Angel  of  St.  Ann, 
And  I  must  go  without." 

That  changeling,  lean  and  icy-lipped. 

Touched  crust,  and  bone,  and  groat,  and  lol 
Beneath  her  finger  taper-tipped 
The  magic  all  ran  through. 

18 


DOWN-ADOWN-DERRY 

Instead  of  crust  a  peacock  pie, 

Instead  of  bone  sweet  venison, 
Instead  of  groat  a  white  lily 
With  seven  blooms  thereon. 

And  each  fair  cup  was  deep  with  wine: 

Such  was  the  changeling's  charity, 
The  sweet  feast  was  enough  for  nine. 
But  not  too  much  for  three. 

O  toothsome  meat  in  jelly  froze  I 
O  tender  haunch  of  elfin  stag! 
O  rich  the  odour  that  arose! 

O  plump  with  scraps  each  bag! 

There,  in  the  daybreak  gold  and  wild. 

Each  merry-hearted  beggar  man 
Drank  deep  unto  the  fairy  child. 
And  blessed  the  good  St.  Ann. 


19 


THE  STRANGER 

In  the  nook  of  a  wood  where  a  pool  freshed  with  dew 
Glassed,daybreak  till  evening,  blueskyglimpsingthrough 
Then  a  star;  or  a  slip  of  May-moon  silver- white, 
Thridding  softly  aloof  the  quiet  of  night, 
Was  a  thicket  of  flowers. 

Willow  herb,  mint,  pale  speedwell  and  rattle 
Water  hemlock  and  sundew  —  to  the  wind's  tittle-tattle 
They  nodded,  dreamed,  swayed  in  jocund  delight. 
In  beauty  and  sweetness  arrayed,  still  and  bright. 
By  turn  scampered  rabbit;  trotted  fox;  bee  and  bird 
Paused  droning,  sang  shrill,  and  the  fair  water  stirred. 
Plashed  green  frog,  or  some  brisk  little  flickering  fish  — 
Gudgeon,  stickleback,  minnow — set  the  ripples  a-swish. 

A  lone  pool,  a  pool  grass-fringed,  crystal-clear: 
Deep,  placid,  and  cool  in  the  sweet  of  the  year; 
Edge-parched  when  the  sun  to  the  Dog  Days  drew  near; 
And  with  winter's  bleak  rime  hardasglass,  robed  in  snow, 
The  whole  wild-wood  sleeping,  and  nothing  a-blow 
But  the  wind  from  the  North  —  bringing  snow. 

That  is  all.    Save  that  one  long,  sweet,  June  night-tide 

straying, 
The  harsh  hemlock's  pale  umbelliferous  bloom 
Tentingnook,dense with  fragrance  andsecret  with  gloom, 
In  a  beaming  of  moon-colored  light  faintly  raying. 
On  buds  orbed  with  dew  phosphorescently  playing. 
Came  a  Stranger  —  still-footed,  feat-fingered,  clear  face 
Unhumanly  lovely:  .  .  .  and  supped  in  that  place. 

20 


THE   RUIN 

When  the  last  colours  of  the  day 
Have  from  their  burning  ebbed  away, 
About  that  ruin,  cold  and  lone, 
The  cricket  shrills  from  stone  to  stone; 
And  scattering  o'er  its  darkened  green, 
Bands  of  the  fairies  may  be  seen, 
Chattering  like  grasshoppers,  their  feet 
Dancing  a  thistledown  dance  round  it: 
While  the  great  gold  of  the  mild  moon 
Tinges  their  tiny  acorn  shoon. 

23 


DOWN-ADOWN-DERRY 


THE   FAIRY   IN  WINTER 

There  was  a  Fairy  —  flake  of  winter  — 
Who,  when  the  snow  came,  whispering.  Silence, 
Sister  crystal  to  crystal  sighing, 
Making  of  meadow  argent  palace, 

Night  a  star-sown  solitude, 
Cried  'neath  her  frozen  eaves,  "I  burn  here!" 

Wings  diaphanous,  beating  bee-like, 

Wand  within  fingers,  locks  enspangled. 

Icicle  foot,  lip  sharp  as  scarlet, 

She  lifted  her  eyes  in  her  pitch-black  hollow  — 

Green  as  stalks  of  weeds  in  water  — 

Breathed:  stirred. 

Rilled  from  her  heart  the  ichor,  coursing. 
Flamed  and  awoke  her  slumbering  magic. 
Softlier  than  moth's  her  pinions  trembled; 
Out  into  blackness,  light-like,  she  flittered, 
Leaving  her  hollow  cold,  forsaken. 

In  air,  o'er  crystal,  rang  twangling  night-wind. 
Bare,  rimed  pine-woods  murmured  lament. 


24 


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SLEEPYHEAD 

As  I  lay  awake  in  the  white  moonlight 
I  heard  a  faint  singing  in  the  wood, 

"Out  of  bed, 

Sleepyhead, 
Put  your  white  foot,  now; 

27 


DOWN-ADOWN-DERRY 

Here  are  we 
Beneath  the  tree 
Singing  round  the  root  now." 

I  looked  out  of  window,  in  the  white  moonlight, 
The  leaves  were  like  snow  in  the  wood  — 
"Come  away, 
Child,  and  play 
Light  with  the  gnomies; 
In  a  mound. 
Green  and  round. 
That's  where  their  home  is. 

"Honey  sweet. 

Curds  to  eat. 
Cream  and  frumenty, 

Shells  and  beads. 

Poppy  seeds, 
You  shall  have  plenty." 

But,  as  soon  as  I  stooped  in  the  dim  moonlight 
To  put  on  my  stocking  and  my  shoe, 

The  sweet  shrill  singing  echoed  faintly  away. 
And  the  grey  of  the  morning  peeped  through. 

And  instead  of  the  gnomies  there  came  a  red  robin 
To  sing  of  the  buttercups  and  dew. 


28 


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SAM'S    THREE    WISHES;    or  LIFE'S 
LITTLE  WHIRLIGIG 


I'm  thinking  and  thinking,"  said  old  Sam  Shore, 
Twere  somebody  knocking  I  heard  at  the  door." 


From  the  clock  popped  the  cuckoo  and  cuckooed  out 

eight. 
As  there  in  his  chair  he  wondering  sate  .  .  . 

29 


DOWN-ADOWN-DERRY 

"There's  no  one  I  knows  on  would  come  so  late, 

A-clicking  the  latch  of  an  empty  house 

With  nobbut  inside  'un  but  me  and  a  mouse.  .  .  . 

Maybe  a-waking  in  sleep  I  be, 

And  'twere  out  of  a  dream  came  that  tapping  to 

me." 
At  length  he  cautiously  rose,  and  went, 
And  with  thumb  upon  latch  awhile  listening  bent, 
Then  slowly  drew  open  the  door.    And  behold! 
There  stood  a  Fairy!  —  all  green  and  gold, 
Mantled  up  warm  against  dark  and  cold, 
And  smiling  up  into  his  candle  shine, 
Lips  like  wax,  and  cheeks  like  wine, 
As  saucy  and  winsome  a  thing  to  see 
As  are  linden  buds  on  a  linden  tree. 

Stock-still  in  the  doorway  stood  simple  Sam, 
A-ducking  his  head,  with  "Good-e'en  to  'ee,  Ma'am." 

Dame  Fairy  she  nods,  and  cries  clear  and  sweet, 
*"Tis  a  very  good-e'en,  sir,  when  such  folks  meet. 
I  know  thee,  Sam,  thou  though  wist  not  of  me. 
And  I'm  come  in  late  gloaming  to  speak  with  thee; 
Though  my  eyes  do  dazzle  at  glint  of  your  rush. 
All  under  this  pretty  green  fuchsia  bush." 

Sam  ducked  once  more,  smiling  simple  and  slow. 
Like  the  warbling  of  birds  her  words  did  flow. 
And  she  laughed,  very  merry,  to  see  how  true 
Shone  the  old  man's  kindness  his  courtesy  through. 

30 


DOWNADOWN-DERRY 

And  she  nodded  her  head,  and  the  stars  on  high 
Sparkled  down  on  her  smallness  from  out  of  the  sky. 

"A  friend  is  a  friend,  Sam,  and  wonderful  pleasant, 

And  I'm  come  for  old  sake's  sake  to  bring  thee  a  present. 

Three  wishes,  three  wishes  are  thine,  Sam  Shore, 

Just  three  wishes  —  and  wish  no  more, 

All  for  because,  ruby-ripe  to  see, 

The  pixy-pears  burn  in  yon  hawthorn  tree, 

And  your  old  milch  cow,  wheresoever  she  goes 

Never  crops  over  the  fairy- knowes. 

Ay,  Sam,  thou  art  old  and  thy  house  is  lone. 

But  there's  Potencies  round  thee,  and  here  is  onel" 

Poor  Sam,  he  stared:  and  the  star  o'erhead 
A  shimmering  light  on  the  elm-tops  shed. 
Like  rilling  of  water  her  voice  rang  sweet, 
And  the  night-wind  sighed  at  the  sound  of  it. 
He  frowned  —  glanced  back  at  the  empty  grate. 
And  shook  very  slowly  his  grey  old  pate: 
"Three  wishes,  my  dear!    Why,  I  scarcely  knows 
Which  be  my  crany  and  which  my  toes! 
But  I  thank  'ee,  Ma'am,  kindly,  and  this  I'd  say. 
That  the  night  of  your  passing  is  Michaelmas  Day; 
And  if  it  were  company  come  on  a  sudden. 
Why,  I'd  ax  for  a  fat  goose  to  fry  in  the  oven!" 

And  lo,  and  forsooth !  as  the  words  he  was  uttering, 
A  rich  puff  of  air  set  his  candle  a-guttering, 

31 


DOWN-ADOWN-DERRY 

And  there  rose  in  the  kitchen  a  sizzling  and  sputtering, 
With  a  crackling  of  sparks  and  of  flames  a  great 

fluttering, 
;^nd  —  of  which  here  could  not  be  two  opinions  — 
A  smoking-hot  savour  of  sage  and  onions. 
Beam,  wall  and  flagstones  the  kitchen  was  lit, 
Every  dark  corner  and  cranny  of  it 
With  the  blaze  from  the  hearthstone.    Copper  and  brass 
Winked  back  the  winking  of  platter  and  glass. 
And  a  wonderful  squeaking  of  mice  went  up 
At  the  smell  of  a  Michaelmas  supper  to  sup  — 
Unctuous  odours  that  wreathed  and  swirled 
Where'er  frisked  a  whisker  or  mouse- tail  twirled, 
While  out  of  the  chimney  up  into  the  night 
That  ne'er-to-be-snuffed-too-much  smoke  took  flight. 
"That's  one,"  says  the  Fairy,  finger  on  thumb, 
"So  now,  Mister  Sam,  there's  but  two  to  come!" 
She  leaned  her  head  sidelong;  she  lifted  her  chin, 
With  a  twinkling  of  eye  from  the  radiance  within. 
Poor  Sam  stood  astounded;  he  says,  says  he, 
"  I  wish  my  old  Mother  was  back  with  me. 
For  if  there  was  one  thing  she  couldn't  refuse 
Twas  a  sweet  thick  slice  from  the  breast  of  a  goose." 
But  his  cheek  grew  stiff  and  his  eyes  stared  bright, 
For  there,  on  her  stick,  pushing  out  of  the  night, 
.Tap-tapping  along,  herself  and  no  other. 
Came  who  but  the  shape  of  his  dear  old  Mother! 
Straight  into  the  kitchen  she  hastened  and  went. 
Her  breath  coming  quick  as  if  all  but  spent. 

32 


DOWNADOWN-DERRY 

"Why,  Sam,"  says  she,  "the  bird  be  turning. 
For  my  nose  tells  I  that  the  skin's  a-burhingi" 
And  down  at  the  oven  the  ghost  of  her  sat 
And  basted  the  goose  with  the  boiling  fat. 

"Oho,"  cries  the  Fairy,  sweet  and  small, 
"Another  wish  gone  will  leave  nothing  at  all." 
And  Sam  sighs,  "Bless  'ee.  Ma'am,  keep  the  other, 
There's  nowt  that  I  want  now  I  have  my  Mother." 
But  the  Fairy  laughs  softly,  and  says,  says  she, 
"There's  one  wish  left,  Sam,  I  promised  'ee  three. 
Hasten  your  wits,  the  hour  creeps  on. 
There's  calling  afield  and  I'm  soon  to  be  gone. 
Soon  as  haps  midnight  the  cocks  will  crow 
And  me  to  the  gathering  and  feasting  must  go." 

Sam  gazed  at  his  Mother  — withered  and  wan, 
The  rose  in  her  cheek,  her  bright  hair,  gone, 
And  her  poor  old  back  bent  double  with  years  — 
And  he  scarce  could  speak  for  the  salt,  salt  tears. 
"Well,  well,"  he  says,  "I'm  unspeakable  glad: 
But  —  it  bain't  quite  the  same  as  when  I  was  a  lad. 
There's  joy  and  there's  joy,  Ma'am,  but  to  tell  'ee 

the  truth 
There's  none  can  compare  with  the  joy  of  one's  youth. 
And  if  it  was  possible,  how  could  I  choose 
But  be  back  in  boy's  breeches  to  eat  the  goose; 
And  all  the  old  things  —  and  my  Mother  the  most, 
To  shine  again  real  as  my  own  gatepost. 
What  wouldn't  I  give,  too,  to  see  again  wag 

33 


DOWN-ADOWN-DERRY 

The  dumpity  tail  of  my  old  dog,  Shag! 

Your  kindness,  Ma'am,  but  all  wishing  was  vain 

Unless  us  can  both  be  young  again." 

A  shrill,  faint  laughter  from  nowhere  came  .  .  . 

Empty  the  dark  in  the  candle-flame.  .  .  . 

And  there  stood  our  Sam,  about  four  foot  high, 
Snub  nose,  shock  hair,  and  round  blue  eye. 
Breeches  and  braces  and  coat  of  him  too, 
Shirt  on  his  back,  and  each  clodhopping  shoe 
Had  shrunk  to  a  nicety  —  button  and  hem 
To  fit  the  small  Sammie  tucked  up  into  them. 

There  was  his  Mother,  too;  smooth,  dear  cheek, 
Lips  as  smooth  as  a  blackbird's  beak. 
Pretty  arched  eyebrows,  the  daintiest  nose  — 
While  the  smoke  of  the  baking  deliciously  rose. 

"Come,  Sammie,"  she  cries,  "your  old  Mammikin's 

joy, 
Climb  up  on  your  stool,  supper's  ready,  my  boy. 
Bring  in  the  candle,  and  shut  out  the  night; 
There's  goose,  baked  taties  and  cabbage  to  bite. 
Why,  bless  the  wee  lamb,  he's  all  shiver  and  shake, 
And  you'd  think  from  the  look  of  him  scarcely  awake! 
If  'ee  glour  wi'  those  eyes,  Sam,  so  dark  and  round, 
The  elves  will  away  with  'ee,  I'll  be  bound!" 
So  Sam  and  his  Mother  by  wishes  three 
Were  made  just  as  happy  as  happy  can  be. 
And  there  —  with  a  bumpity  tail  to  wag  — 

34 


DOWN-ADOWN-DERRY 

Sat  laughing,  with  tongue  out,  their  old  dog,  Shag. 
To  clatter  of  patter,  bones,  giblets  and  juice. 
Between  them  they  ate  up  the  whole  of  the  goose. 

But  time  is  a  river  for  ever  in  flow, 

The  weeks  went  by  as  the  weeks  must  go. 

Soon  fifty-two  to  a  year  did  grow. 

The  long  years  passed,  one  after  another. 

Making  older  and  older  our  Sam  and  his  Mother; 

And,  alas  and  alack,  with  nine  of  them  gone, 

Poor  Shag  lay  asleep  again  under  a  stone. 

And  a  sorrowful  dread  would  sometimes  creep 

Into  Sam's  dreams,  as  he  lay  asleep. 

That  his  Mother  was  lost,  and  away  he'd  fare, 

Calling  her,  calling  her,  everywhere, 

In  dark,  in  rain,  by  roads  unknown. 

Under  echoing  hills,  and  alone,  alone. 

What  bliss  in  the  morning  to  wake  and  see 

The  sun  shining  green  in  the  linden  tree. 

And  out  of  that  dream's  dark  shadowiness 

To  slip  in  on  his  Mother  and  give  her  a  kiss. 

And  go  whistling  off  in  the  dew  to  hear 

The  thrushes  all  mocking  him,  sweet  and  clear. 

Still,  moon  after  moon  from  heaven  above 
Shone  on  Mother  and  son,  and  made  light  of  love. 
Her  roses  faded,  her  pretty  brown  hair 
Had  sorrowful  grey  in  it  everywhere. 
And  at  last  she  died,  and  was  laid  to  rest, 

35 


DOWN-ADOWN-DERRY 

Her  tired  hands  crossed  on  her  shrunken  breast. 
And  Sam,  now  lonely,  lived  on  and  on 
Till  most  of  his  workaday  life  seemed  gone. 

Yet  spring  came  again  with  its  green  and  blue, 
And  presently  summer's  wild  roses  too, 
Pinks,  Sweet  William,  and  sops-in-wine. 
Blackberry,  lavender,  eglantine. 
And  when  these  had  blossomed  and  gone  their  way, 
Twas  apples,  and  daisies  and  Michaelmas  Day  — 
Yes,  spider-webs,  dew,  and  haws  in  the  may, 
And  seraphs  singing  in  Michaelmas  Day. 

Sam  worked  all  morning  and  couldnt  get  rest 

For  a  kind  of  a  feeling  of  grief  in  his  breast. 

And  yet,  not  grief,  but  something  more 

Like  the  thought  that  what  happens  has  happened 

before. 
He  fed  the  chickens,  he  fed  the  sow. 
On  a  three-legged  stool  sate  down  to  the  cow. 
With  a  pail  'twixt  his  legs  in  the  green  in  the  meadow, 
Under  the  elm  trees'  lengthening  shadow; 
And  woke  at  last  with  a  smile  and  a  sigh 
To  find  he  had  milked  his  poor  Jingo  dry. 

As  dusk  set  in,  even  the  birds  did  seem 
To  be  calling  and  calling  from  out  of  a  dream. 
He  chopped  up  kindling,  shut  up  his  shed, 
In  a  bucket  of  well-water  soused  his  head 

36 


DOWN-ADOWN-DERRY 

To  freshen  his  eyes  up  a  little  and  make 

The  drowsy  old  wits  of  him  wider  awake. 

As  neat  as  a  womanless  creature  is  able 

He  swept  up  his  hearthstone  and  laid  the  table. 

And  then  o'er  his  platter  and  mug,  if  you  please, 

Sate  gloomily  gooming  at  loaf  and  cheese  — 

Gooming  and  gooming  as  if  the  mere  sight 

Of  his  victuals  could  satisfy  appetite! 

And  the  longer  and  longer  he  looked  at  them 

The  slimmer  slimmed  upward  his  candle  flame, 

Blue  in  the  air.    And  when  squeaked  a  mouse 

Twas  loud  as  a  trump  in  the  hush  of  the  house. 

Then,  sudden,  a  soft  little  wind  puffed  by, 

Twixt  the  thick-thatched  roof  and  the  star-sown  sky; 

And  died.    And  then 

That  deep,  dead,  wonderful  silence  again. 

Then  —  soft  as  a  rattle  a-counting  her  seeds 
In  the  midst  of  a  tangle  of  withered-up  weeds  — 
Came  a  faint,  faint  knocking,  a  rustle  like  silk. 
And  a  breath  at  the  keyhole  as  soft  as  milk  — 
Still  as  the  flit  of  a  moth.  \  And  then  .  .  . 
That  infinitesimal  knocking  again. 

Sam  lifted  his  chin  from  his  fists.     He  listened. 
His  wandering  eyes  in  the  candle  glistened. 
Then  slowly,  slowly,  rolled  round  by  degrees  — 
And  there  sat  a  mouse  on  the  top  of  his  cheese. 
He  stared  at  this  Midget,  and  it  at  him, 

37 


DOWN-ADOWN-DERRY 

Over  the  edge  of  his  mug's  round  rim, 

And  —  as  if  it  were  Christian  —  he  says,  "  Did  'ee  hear 

A  faint  little  tap-tap-tap-tapping,  my  dear? 

You  was  at  supper  and  me  in  a  maze 

Tis  dark  for  a  caller  in  these  lone  days, 

There's  nowt  in  the  larder.    We're  both  of  us  old. 

And  all  of  my  loved  ones  sleep  under  the  mould, 

And  yet  —  and  yet  —  as  I've  told  'ee  before  ..." 

But  if  Sam's  story  you'd  read  to  the  end, 
Turn  back  to  page  1,  and  press  onward,  dear  friend; 
Yes,  if  you  would  stave  the  last  note  of  this  song. 
Turn  back  to  page  primus,  and  warble  along! 
For  all  sober  records  of  life  {come  to  write  'em). 
Are  bound  to  continue  —  well  —  ad  infinitum! 


38 


PEAK  AND   PUKE 

From  his  cradle  in  the  glamourie 
They  have  stolen  my  wee  brother, 
Roused  a  changeling  in  his  swaddlings 
For  to  fret  mine  own  poor  mother. 
Pules  it  in  the  candle  light 
Wi'  a  cheek  so  lean  and  white, 
Chinkling  up  its  eyne  so  wee, 
Wailing  shrill  at  her  an'  me. 

39 


DOWN-ADOWN-DERRY 

It  we'll  neither  rock  nor  tend 
Till  the  Silent  Silent  send, 
Lapping  in  their  waesome  arms 
Him  they  stole  with  spells  and  charms, 
Till  they  take  this  changeling  creature 
Back  to  its  own  fairy  nature  — 
Cry  I  Cry!  as  long  as  may  be, 
Ye  shall  ne'er  be  woman's  baby! 


40 


DOWN-ADOWN-DERRY 


THE  CHANGELING 

"Ahoy,  and  ahoy!" 

Twixt  mocking  and  merry  — 
"Ahoy  and  ahoy,  there. 

Young  man  of  the  ferry  I" 
She  stood  on  the  steps 

In  the  watery  gloom  — 
That  Changeling  —  "Ahoy,  there T 

She  called  him  to  come. 
He  came  on  the  green  wave. 

He  came  on  the  grey. 
Where  stooped  that  sweet  lady 

That  still  summer's  day. 
He  fell  in  a  dream 

Of  her  beautiful  face, 
As  she  sat  on  the  thwart 

And  smiled  in  her  place. 
No  echo  his  oar  woke. 

Float  silent  did  they, 
Past  low-grazing  cattle 

In  the  sweet  of  the  hay. 
And  still  in  a  dream 

At  her  beauty  sat  he, 
Drifting  stern  foremost 

Down  —  down  to  the  sea. 

41 


DOWN-ADOWN-DERRY 

Come  you,  then:  call, 

When  the  twilight  apace 
Brings  shadow  to  brood 

On  the  loveliest  face; 
You  shall  hear  o'er  the  water 

Ring  faint  in  the  grey  — 
"Ahoy,  and  ahoy,  there!" 

And  tremble  away; 
"Ahoy,  and  ahoy!  ..." 

And  tremble  away. 


42 


LOB   LIE  BY  THE   FIRE 


He  squats  by  the  fire 
On  his  three-legged  stool, 

When  all  in  the  house 
With  slumber  are  full. 

45 


DOWN-ADOWN-DERRY 

And  he  warms  his  great  hands, 
Hanging  loose  from  each  knee. 

And  he  whistles  as  soft 
As  the  night  wind  at  sea. 

For  his  work  now  is  done; 

All  the  water  is  sweet; 
He  has  turned  each  brown  loaf, 

And  breathed  magic  on  it. 

The  milk  in  the  pan, 

And  the  bacon  on  beam 
He  has  "spelled"  with  his  thumb, 

And  bewitched  has  the  dream. 

Not  a  mouse,  not  a  moth, 

Not  a  spider  but  sat. 
And  quaked  as  it  wondered 

What  next  he'd  be  at. 

But  his  heart,  O,  his  heart  — 

It  belies  his  great  nose; 
And  at  gleam  of  his  eye 

Not  a  soul  would  suppose 

He  had  stooped  with  great  thumbs, 
And  big  thatched  head, 
.    To  tuck  his  small  mistress 
More  snugly  in  bed. 

46 


DOWN-ADOWN-DERRY 

Who  would  think,  now,  a  throat 

So  lank  and  so  thin 
Might  make  birds  seem  to  warble 

In  the  dream  she  is  in! 

Now  hunched  by  the  fire, 
While  the  embers  burn  low, 

He  nods  until  daybreak. 
And  at  daybreak  he'll  go. 

Soon  the  first  cock  will  'light 
From  his  perch  and  point  high 

His  beak  at  the  Ploughboy 
Grown  pale  in  the  sky; 

And  crow  will  he  shrill; 

Then,  meek  as  a  mouse, 
Lob  will  rouse  up  and  shuffle 

Straight  out  of  the  house. 

His  supper  for  breakfast; 

For  wages  his  work; 
And  to  warm  his  great  hands 

Just  an  hour  in  the  mirk. 


47 


DOWN-ADOWN-DERRY 


BLUEBELLS 

Where  the  bluebells  and  the  wind  are, 

Fairies  in  a  ring  I  spied, 
And  I  heard  a  little  linnet 

Singing  near  beside. 

Where  the  primrose  and  the  dew  are  — 
Soon  were  sped  the  fairies  all: 

Only  now  the  green  turf  freshens, 
And  the  linnets  call. 


48 


DOWN-ADOWN-DERRY 


THE   HONEY   ROBBERS 

There  were  two  Fairies,  Gimmul  and  Mel, 
Loved  Earth  Man's  honey  passing  well; 
Oft  at  the  hives  of  his  tame  bees 
They  would  their  sugary  thirst  appease. 
When  even  began  to  darken  to  night, 
They  would  hie  along  in  the  fading  light, 
With  elf-locked  hair  and  scarlet  lips, 

51 


DOWN-ADOWN-DERRY 

And  small  stone  knives  to  slit  the  skeps, 

So  softly  not  a  bee  inside 

Should  hear  the  woven  straw  divide. 

And  then  with  sly  and  greedy  thumbs 

Would  rifle  the  sweet  honeycombs. 

And  drowsily  drone  to  drone  would  say, 

"A  cold,  cold  wind  blows  in  this  way"; 

And  the  great  Queen  would  turn  her  head 

From  face  to  face,  astonished, 

And,  though  her  maids  with  comb  and  brush 

Would  comb  and  soothe  and  whisper,  "Hush!" 

About  the  hive  would  shrilly  go 

A  keening  —  keening,  to  and  fro; 

At  which  those  robbers  'neath  the  trees 

Would  taunt  and  mock  the  honey-bees, 

And  through  their  sticky  teeth  would  buzz 

Just  as  an  angry  hornet  does. 

And  when  this  Gimmul  and  this  Mel 

Had  munched  and  sucked  and  swilled  their  fill, 

Or  ever  Man's  first  cock  could  crow 

Back  to  their  Faerie  Mounds  they'd  go. 

Edging  across  the  twilight  air, 

Thieves  of  a  guise  remotely  fair. 


52 


DOWN-ADOWN-DERRY 


BERRIES 

There  was  an  old  woman 

Went  blackberry  picking 
Along  the  hedges 

From  Weep  to  Wicking. 
Half  a  pottle  — 

No  more  she  had  got, 
When  out  steps  a  Fairy 

From  her  green  grot; 
Andsays,  "Well,  Jill, 

Would  'ee  pick  'ee  mo?" 
And  Jill,  she  curtseys. 

And  looks  just  so. 
"Be  off,"  says  the  Fairy, 

"As  quick  as  you  can, 
Over  the  meadows 

To  the  little  green  lane, 
That  dips  to  the  hayfields 

Of  Farmer  Grimes: 
I've  berried  those  hedges 

A  score  of  times; 
Bushel  on  bushel 

I'll  promise  'ee,  Jill, 
This  side  of  supper 

If  'ee  pick  with  a  will." 

55 


DOWN-ADOWN-DERRY 

She  glints  very  bright, 

And  speaks  her  fair; 
Then  lo,  and  behold! 

She  has  faded  in  air. 

Be  sure  old  Goodie 

She  trots  betimes 
Over  the  meadows 

To  Farmer  Grimes. 
And  never  was  queen 

With  jewellry  rich 
As  those  same  hedges 

From  twig  to  ditch; 
Like  Dutchmen's  coffers, 

Fruit,  thorn,  and  flower  — 
They  shone  like  William 

And  Mary's  bower. 
And  be  sure  Old  Goodie 

Went  back  to  Weep, 
So  tired  with  her  basket 

She  scarce  could  creep. 
When  she  comes  in  the  dusk 

To  her  cottage  door, 
There's  Towser  wagging 

As  never  before. 
To  see  his  Missus 

So  glad  to  be 
Come  from  her  fruit-picking 

Back  to  he. 

56 


DOWN-ADOWN-DERRY 

As  soon  as  next  morning 

Dawn  was  grey, 
The  pot  on  the  hob 

Was  simmering  away; 
And  all  in  a  stew 

And  a  hugger-mugger 
Towser  and  Jill 

A-boiling  of  sugar, 
And  the  dark  clear  fruit 

That  from  Faerie  came. 
For  syrup  and  jelly 

And  blackberry  jam. 

Twelve  jolly  gallipots 

Jill  put  by; 
And  one  little  teeny  one, 

One  inch  high; 
And  that  she's  hidden 

A  good  thumb  deep. 
Half  way  over 

From  Wicking  to  Weep. 


57 


DOWN-ADOWN-DERRY 


HAPPY,   HAPPY   IT   IS  TO   BE 

"Happy,  happy  it  is  to  be 
Where  the  greenwood  hangs  o'er  the  dark  blue  sea; 
To  roam  in  the  moonbeams  clear  and  still 
And  dance  with  the  elves 
Over  dale  and  hill; 

To  taste  their  cups,  and  with  them  roam 
The  field  for  dewdrops  and  honeycomb. 
Climb  then,  and  come,  as  quick  as  you  can, 
And  dwell  with  the  fairies,  Elizabeth  Ann! 

"Never,  never,  comes  tear  or  sorrow, 
In  the  mansions  old  where  the  fairies  dwell; 
But  only  the  harping  of  their  sweet  harp-strings. 
And  the  lonesome  stroke  of  a  distant  bell, 
Where  upon  hills  of  thyme  and  heather, 
The  shepherd  sits  with  his  wandering  sheep; 
And  the  curlew  wails,  and  the  skylark  hovers 
Over  the  sand  where  the  conies  creep; 
Climb  then,  and  come,  as  quick  as  you  can. 
And  dwell  with  the  fairies,  Elizabeth  Ann!" 


58 


DOWN-ADOWN-DERRY 


THE  MIDDEN'S   SONG 

"Bubble,  Bubble, 
Swim  to  see 
Oh,  how  beautiful 
I  be. 

"Fishes,  Fishes, 
Finned  and  fine, 
What's  your  gold 
Compared  with  mine? 

"Why,  then,  has 

Wise  Tishnar  made 
One  so  lovely, 
Yet  so  sad? 

"Lone  am  I, 

And  can  but  make 
A  little  song. 
For  singing's  sake." 


63 


DOWN-ADOWN-DERRY 


ALL   BUT   BLIND 

All  but  blind 

In  his  chambered  hole 
Gropes  for  worms 

The  four-clawed  Mole. 

All  but  blind 

In  the  evening  sky 
The  hooded  Bat 

Twirls  softly  by. 

All  but  blind 

In  the  burning  day 
The  Barn-Owl  blunders 

On  her  way. 

And  blind  as  are 
These  three  to  me, 

So,  blind  to  Some-one 
I  must  be. 


64 


■ 

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^^Vv^;^'^^|^P 

/  r^i^^^^l 

bHHH 

l!tO(^V 

^B 

B|^H 

BBKi^~^^i^S^5 

HiB^r^i*.'-  ?■'  ■:*-''^B 

^^^H 

^[JH^JE^^J|^,-r':'" 

'A.  ^^to99Ba^M-^aH 

iSSBslHIHIIHH 

DOWN-ADOWN-DERRY 


THE  MOCKING   FAIRY 

"Won't  you  look  out  of  your  window,  Mrs.  Gill?" 
Quoth  the  Fairy,  nidding,  nodding  in  the  garden; 

''Cant  you  look  out  of  your  window,  Mrs.  Gill?" 
Quoth  the  Fairy,  laughing  softly  in  the  garden; 

But  the  air  was  still,  the  cherry  boughs  were  still, 

And  the  ivy-tod  'neath  the  empty  sill, 

And  never  from  her  window  looked  out  Mrs.  Gill 
On  the  Fairy  shrilly  mocking  in  the  garden. 

"What  have  they  done  with  you,  you  poor  Mrs.  Gill?" 

Quoth  the  Fairy,  brightly  glancing  in  the  garden; 
"Where  have  they  hidden  you,  you  poor  old  Mrs.  Gill?" 

Quoth  the  Fairy  dancing  lightly  in  the  garden; 
But  night's  faint  veil  now  wrapped  the  hill, 
Stark  'neath  the  stars  stood  the  dead-still  Mill, 
And  out  of  her  cold  cottage  never  answered  Mrs.  Gill 
The  Fairy  mimbling  mambling  in  the  garden. 


69 


DOWN-ADOWN-DERRY 


DOWN-ADOWN-DERRY 


DowN-adown-derry, 

Sweet  Annie  Maroon, 
Gathering  daisies 

In  the  meadows  of  Doone, 
Hears  a  shrill  piping, 

Elflike  and  free, 
Where  the  waters  go  brawling 

In  rills  to  the  sea; 
Singing  down-adown-derry. 


Down-adown-derry, 

Sweet  Annie  Maroon, 
Through  the  green  grasses 

Peeps  softly;  and  soon 
Spies  under  green  willows 

A  fairy  whose  song 
Like  the  smallest  of  bubbles 
Floats  bobbing  along; 
Singing  down-adown-derry. 


70 


DOWN-ADOWN-DERRY 

Down-adown-derry, 

Her  cheeks  were  like  wine, 
Her  eyes  in  her  wee  face 

Like  water-sparks  shine, 
Her  niminy  fingers 

Her  sleek  tresses  preen, 
The  which  in  the  combing 

She  peeps  out  between ; 
Singing  down-adown-derry. 

Down-adown-derry, 

Shrill,  shrill  was  her  tune:  — 
"Come  to  my  water-house, 

Annie  Maroon: 
Come  in  your  dimity, 

Ribbon  on  head. 
To  wear  siller  seaweed 

And  coral  instead"; 
Singing  down-adown-derry. 

"  Down-adown-derry, 

Lean  fish  of  the  sea, 
Bring  lanthorns  for  feasting 

The  gay  Faerie; 
Tis  sand  for  the  dancing, 

A  music  all  sweet 
In  the  water-green  gloaming 

For  thistledown  feet"; 
Singing  down-adown-derry. 

71 


DOWN-ADOWN-DERRY 

Down-adown-derry, 

Sweet  Annie  Maroon 
Looked  large  on  the  fairy 

Curled  wan  as  the  moon 
And  all  the  grey  ripples 

To  the  Mill  racing  by, 
With  harps  and  with  timbrels 

Did  ringing  reply; 
Singing  down-adown-derry. 

**  Down-adown-derry," 

Sang  the  Fairy  of  Doone, 
Piercing  the  heart 

Of  Sweet  Annie  Maroon; 
And  lo!  when  like  roses 

The  clouds  of  the  sun 
Faded  at  dusk,  gone 

Was  Annie  Maroon; 
Singing  down-adown-derry. 

Down-adown-derry, 

The  daisies  are  few; 
Frost  twinkles  powdery 

In  haunts  of  the  dew; 
And  only  the  robin 

Perched  on  a  thorn, 
Can  comfort  the  heart 

Of  a  father  forlorn ; 
Singing  down-adown-derry. 

72 


DOWN-ADOWN-DERRY 

Down-adown-derry, 

There's  snow  in  the  air; 
Ice  where  the  lily 

Bloomed  waxen  and  fair; 
He  may  call  o'er  the  water, 

Cry  —  cry  through  the  Mill,  • 
But  Annie  Maroon,  alas  I 

Answer  ne'er  will; 
Singing  down-adown-derry. 


73 


WITCHES  AND  WITCHCRAFT 


DOWN-ADOWN-DERRY 


THE   HARE 

In  the  black  furrow  of  a  field 

I  saw  an  old  witch-hare  this  night; 
And  she  cocked  a  lissome  ear, 

And  she  eyed  the  moon  so  bright, 
And  she  nibbled  of  the  green; 

And  I  whispered  "Wh-s-stI  witch-hare," 
Away  like  a  ghostie  o'er  the  field 

She  fled,  and  left  the  moonlight  there. 


76 


IS!^»W'i!    'ki^ 


I   SAW  THREE  WITCHES 


I  SAW  three  witches 

That  bowed  down  like  barley, 

79 


DOWN-ADOWN-DERRY 

And  straddled  their  brooms  'neath  a  louring  sky, 

And,  mounting  a  storm-cloud, 

Aloft  on  its  margin, 
Stood  black  in  the  silver  as  up  they  did  fly. 

I  saw  three  witches 

That  mocked  the  poor  sparrows 
They  carried  in  cages  of  wicker  along, 

Till  a  hawk  from  his  eyrie 

Swooped  down  like  an  arrow, 
Smote  on  the  cages,  and  ended  their  song. 

I  saw  three  witches 

That  sailed  in  a  shallop, 
All  turning  their  heads  with  a  snickering  smile, 

Till  a  bank  of  green  osiers 

Concealed  their  grim  faces. 
Though  I  heard  them  lamenting  for  many  a  mile. 

I  saw  three  witches 

Asleep  in  a  valley, 
Their  heads  in  a  row,  like  stones  in  a  flood, 

Till  the  moon,  creeping  upward. 

Looked  white  through  the  valley. 
And  turned  them  to  bushes  in  bright  scarlet  bud. 


THE   ISLE  OF   LONE 

Three  dwarfs  there  were  which  lived  in  an  isle, 
And  the  name  of  that  Isle  was  Lone, 

And  the  names  of  the  dwarfs  were  Alliolyle, 
Lallerie,  Muziomone. 


Alliolyle  was  green  of  een, 
Lallerie  light  of  locks, 

Muziomone  was  mild  of  mien, 
As  ewes  in  April  flocks. 

81 


DOWN-ADOWN-DERRY 

Their  house  was  small  and  sweet  of  the  sea, 

And  pale  as  the  Malmsey  wine; 
Their  bowls  were  three,  and  their  beds  were  three. 
And  their  nightcaps  white  were  nine. 

Their  beds  they  were  made  of  the  holly- wood, 

Their  combs  of  the  tortoise's  shell. 
Three  basins  of  silver  in  corners  there  stood, 

And  three  little  ewers  as  well. 

Green  rushes,  green  rushes  lay  thick  on  the  floor, 

For  light  beamed  a  gobbet  of  wax; 
There  were  three  wooden  stools  for  whatever  they  wore 

On  their  humpity-dumpity  backs. 

So  each  would  lie  on  a  drowsy  pillow 

And  watch  the  moon  in  the  sky  — 
And  hear  the  parrot  scream  to  the  billow, 

The  billow  roar  reply: 

Parrots  of  sapphire  and  sulphur  and  amber. 

Scarlet,  and  flame,  and  green, 
While  five-foot  apes  did  scramble  and  clamber, 

In  the  feathery- tufted  treen. 

All  night  long  with  bubbles  a-glisten 

The  ocean  cried  under  the  moon, 
Till  ape  and  parrot,  too  sleepy  to  listen, 

To  sleep  and  slumber  were  gone. 

82 


DOWN-ADOWN-DERRY 

Then  from  three  small  beds  the  dark  hours'  while 

In  a  house  in  the  Island  of  Lone 
Rose  the  snoring  of  Lallerie,  Alliolyle, 

The  snoring  of  Muziomone. 

But  soon  as  ever  came  peep  of  sun 

On  coral  and  feathery  tree, 
Three  nightcapped  dwarfs  to  the  surf  would  run 

And  soon  were  a-bob  in  the  sea. 

At  six  they  went  fishing,  at  nine  they  snared 

Young  foxes  in  the  dells, 
At  noon  on  sweet  berries  and  honey  they  fared, 

And  blew  in  their  twisted  shells. 

Dark  was  the  sea  they  gambolled  in, 

And  thick  with  silver  fish, 
Dark  as  green  glass  blown  clear  and  thin 

To  be  a  monarch's  dish. 

They  sate  to  sup  in  a  jasmine  bower, 

Lit  pale  with  flies  of  fire, 
Their  bowls  the  hue  of  the  iris-flower, 

And  lemon  their  attire. 

Sweet  wine  in  little  cups  they  sipped, 

And  golden  honeycomb 
Into  their  bowls  of  cream  they  dipped, 

Whipt  light  and  white  as  foam. 

83 


D  O  W  N  -  A  D  O  W  N  -  D  E  R  R  Y 

Now  Alliolyle,  where  the  sand-flower  blows, 

Taught  three  old  apes  to  sing  — 
Taught  three  old  apes  to  dance  on  their  toes 

And  caper  around  in  a  ring. 

They  yelled  them  hoarse  and  they  croaked  them  sweet, 

They  twirled  them  about  and  around. 
To  the  noise  of  their  voices  they  danced  with  their  feet, 

They  stamped  with  their  feet  on  the  ground. 

But  down  to  the  shore  skipped  Lallerie, 

His  parrot  on  his  thumb, 
And  the  twain  they  scritched  in  mockery, 

While  the  dancers  go  and  come. 

And,  alas!  in  the  evening,  rosy  and  still, 

Light-haired  Lallerie 
Bitterly  quarrelled  with  Alliolyle 

By  the  yellow-sanded  sea. 

The  rising  moon  swam  sweet  and  large 

Before  their  furious  eyes. 
And  they  rolled  and  rolled  to  the  coral  marge 

Where  the  surf  for  ever  cries. 

Too  late,  too  late,  comes  Muziomone: 

Clear  in  the  clear  green  sea 
Alliolyle  lies  not  alone, 

But  clasped  with  Lallerie. 

84 


DOWN-ADOWN-DERRY 

He  blows  on  his  shell  plaintive  notes; 

Ape,  parraquito,  bee 
Flock  where  a  shoe  on  the  salt  wave  floats,  — 

The  shoe  of  Lallerie. 

He  fetches  nightcaps,  one  and  nine, 

Grey  apes  he  dowers  three, 
His  house  as  fair  as  the  Malmsey  wine 

Seems  sad  as  cypress-tree. 

Three  bowls  he  brims  with  sweet  honeycomb 

To  feast  the  bumble  bees. 
Saying,  "O  bees,  be  this  your  home, 

For  grief  is  on  the  seas!" 

He  sate  him  lone  in  a  coral  grot, 

At  the  flowing  in  of  the  tide; 
When  ebbed  the  billow,  there  was  not, 

Save  coral,  aught  beside. 

So  hairy  apes  in  three  white  beds. 

And  nightcaps,  one  and  nine, 
On  moonlit  pillows  lay  three  heads 

Bemused  with  dwarfish  wine. 

A  tomb  of  coral,  the  dirge  of  bee. 

The  grey  apes'  guttural  groan 
For  Alliolyle,  for  Lallerie, 

For  thee,  O  Muziomone! 

85 


DOWN-ADOWN-DERRY 


SUNK   LYON  ESSE 

In  sea-cold  Lyonesse, 

When  the  Sabbath  eve  shafts  down 
On  the  roofs,  walls,  belfries 

Of  the  foundered  town. 
The  Nereids  pluck  their  lyres 

Where  the  green  translucency  beats, 
And  with  motionless  eyes  at  gaze 

Make  minstrelsy  in  the  streets. 

The  ocean  water  stirs 

In  salt-worn  casemate  and  porch 
Plies  the  blunt-snouted  fish 

With  fire  in  his  skull  for  torch. 
And  the  ringing  wires  resound; 

And  the  unearthly  lovely  weep, 
In  lament  of  the  music  they  make 

In  the  sullen  courts  of  sleep. 

Whose  marble  flowers  bloom  for  aye, 
And  —  lapped  by  the  moon-guiled  tide 

Mock  their  carver  with  heart  of  stone, 
Caged  in  his  stone-ribbed  side. 


86 


SLEEPING  BEAUTY 

The  scent  of  bramble  fills  the  air, 
Amid  her  folded  sheets  she  lies, 

The  gold  of  evening  in  her  hair, 
The  blue  of  morn  shut  in  her  eyes. 

89 


DOWN-ADOWN-DERRY 

How  many  a  changing  moon  hath  lit 
The  unchanging  roses  of  her  face  I 

Her  mirror  ever  broods  on  it 
In  silver  stillness  of  the  days. 

Oft  flits  the  moth  on  filmy  wings 

Into  his  solitary  lair; 
Shrill  evensong  the  cricket  sings 

From  some  still  shadow  in  her  hair. 

In  heat,  in  snow,  in  wind,  in  flood, 
She  sleeps  in  lovely  loneliness. 

Half-folded  like  an  April  bud 
On  winter-haunted  trees. 


90 


BEWITCHED 

I  HAVE  heard  a  lady  this  night, 

Lissom  and  jimp  and  slim, 
Calling  me  —  calling  me  over  the  heather, 

'Neath  the  beech  boughs  dusk  and  dim. 

91 


DOWN-ADOWN-DERRY 

I  have  followed  a  lady  this  night, 

Followed  her  far  and  lone, 
Fox  and  adder  and  weasel  know 

The  ways  that  we  have  gone. 

I  sit  at  my  supper  'mid  honest  faces, 

And  crumble  my  crust  and  say 
Nought  in  the  long-drawn  drawl  of  the  voices 

Talking  the  hours  away. 

I'll  go  to  my  chamber  under  the  gable. 

And  the  moon  will  lift  her  light 
In  at  my  lattice  from  over  the  moorland 

Hollow  and  still  and  bright. 

And  I  know  she  will  shine  on  a  lady  of  witchcraft. 

Gladness  and  grief  to  see, 
Who  has  taken  my  heart  with  her  nimble  fingers. 

Calls  in  my  dreams  to  me: 

Who  has  led  me  a  dance  by  dell  and  dingle 

My  human  soul  to  win. 
Made  me  a  changeling  to  my  own,  own  mother, 

A  stranger  to  my  kin. 


92 


DOWN-ADOWN-DERRY 


THE   ENCHANTED   HILL 

From  height  of  noon,  remote  and  still, 
The  sun  shines  on  the  empty  hill. 
No  mist,  no  wind,  above,  below; 
No  living  thing  strays  to  and  fro. 
No  bird  replies  to  bird  on  high, 
Cleaving  the  skies  with  echoing  cry. 
Like  dreaming  water,  green  and  wan. 
Glassing  the  snow  of  mantling  swan, 
Like  a  clear  jewel  encharactered 
With  secret  symbol  of  line  and  word, 
Asheen,  unruffled,  slumbrous,  still, 
The  sunlight  streams  on  the  empty  hill. 

But  soon  as  Night's  dark  shadows  ride 

Across  its  shrouded  Eastern  side, 

When  at  her  kindling,  clear  and  full, 

Star  beyond  star  stands  visible; 

Then  course  pale  phantoms,  fleet-foot  deer 

Lap  of  its  waters  icy-clear; 

Mounts  the  large  moon,  and  pours  her  beams 

On  bright-fish-flashing,  singing  streams; 

Voices  re-echo;  coursing  by. 

Horsemen,  like  clouds,  wheel  silently. 

93 


DOWN-ADOWN-DERRY 

Glide  then  from  out  their  pitch-black  lair 
Beneath  the  dark's  ensilvered  arch, 
Witches  becowled  into  the  air; 
And  iron  pine  and  emerald  larch, 
Tents  of  delight  for  ravished  bird, 
Are  by  loud  music  thrilled  and  stirred. 
Winging  the  light,  with  silver  feet. 
Beneath  their  bowers  of  fragrance  met, 
In  dells  of  rose  and  meadowsweet, 
In  mazed  dance  the  fairies  flit; 
While  drives  his  share  the  Ploughman  high 
Athwart  the  daisy-powdered  sky: 
Till  far  away,  in  thickening  dew. 
Piercing  the  Eastern  shadows  through 
Rilling  in  crystal  clear  and  still, 
Light  'gins  to  tremble  on  the  hill. 
And  like  a  mist  on  faint  winds  borne, 
Silent,  forlorn,  wells  up  the  morn. 
Then  the  broad  sun  with  burning  beams 
Steeps  slope  and  peak  and  gilded  streams. 
Then  no  foot  stirs;  the  brake  shakes  not; 
Soundless  and  wet  in  its  green  grot 
As  if  asleep,  the  leaf  hangs  limp; 
The  white  dews  drip  untrembling  down, 
From  bough  to  bough,  orblike,  unblown; 
And  in  strange  quiet,  shimmering  and  still, 
Morning  enshrines  the  empty  hill. 


94 


THE   RIDE-BY-NIGHTS 

Up  on  their  brooms  the  Witches  stream, 
Crooked  and  black  in  the  crescent's  gleam; 

97 


DOWN-ADOWN-DER  R Y 

One  foot  high,  and  one  foot  low, 
Bearded,  cloaked,  and  cowled,  they  go. 
'Neath  Charlie's  Wane  they  twitter  and  tweet. 
And  away  they  swarm  'neath  the  Dragon's  feet. 
With  a  whoop  and  a  flutter  they  swing  and  sway, 
And  surge  pell-mell  down  the  Milky  Way. 
Betwixt  the  legs  of  the  glittering  Chair 
They  hover  and  squeak  in  the  empty  air. 
Then  round  they  swoop  past  the  glimmering  Lion 
To  where  Sirius  barks  behind  huge  Orion; 
Up,  then,  and  over  to  wheel  amain, 
Under  the  silver,  and  home  again. 


98 


OFF  THE  GROUND 

Three  jolly  Farmers 

Once  bet  a  pound 
Each  dance  the  others  would 

Off  the  ground. 
Out  of  their  coats 

They  slipped  right  soon, 
And  neat  and  nicesome 

Put  each  his  shoon. 
One  —  Two  —  Three!  — 

And  away  they  go, 
Not  too  fast, 

And  not  too  slow; 
Out  from  the  elm-tree's 

Noonday  shadow, 
Into  the  sun 

And  across  the  meadow. 
Past  the  schoolroom, 

With  knees  well  bent 
Fingers  a-flicking, 

They  dancing  went. 
Up  sides  and  over, 

And  round  and  round. 
They  crossed  click-clacking, 

The  Parish  bound. 
By  Tupman's  meadow 

They  did  their  mile, 
Tee-to-tum 

99 


DOWN-ADOWN-DERRY 

On  a  three-barred  stile. 
Then  straight  through  Whipham, 

Downhill  to  Week, 
Footing  it  lightsome, 

But  not  too  quick, 
Up  fields  to  Watchet, 

And  on  through  Wye, 
Till  seven  fine  churches 

They'd  seen  skip  by  — 
Seven  fine  churches. 

And  five  old  mills, 
Farms  in  the  valley, 

And  sheep  on  the  hills; 
Old  Man's  Acre 

And  Dead  Man's  Pool 
All  left  behind, 

As  they  danced  through  Wool. 
And  Wool  gone  by, 

Like  tops  that  seem 
To  spin  in  sleep 

They  danced  in  dream: 
Withy  —  Wellover  — 

Wassop  —  Wo  — 
Like  an  old  clock 

Their  heels  did  go. 
A  league  and  a  league 

And  a  league  they  went. 
And  not  one  weary. 

And  not  one  spent. 

100 


DOWN-ADOWN-DERRY 

And  lo,  and  behold! 

Past  Willow-cum-Leigh 
Stretched  with  its  waters 

The  great  green  sea. 
Says  Farmer  Bates, 

"  I  puffs  and  I  blows, 
What's  under  the  water, 

Why,  no  man  knows!" 
Says  Farmer  Giles, 

"My  wind  comes  weak. 
And  a  good  man  drownded 

Is  far  to  seek." 
But  Farmer  Turvey, 

On  twirling  toes 
Up's  with  his  gaiters. 

And  in  he  goes: 
Down  where  the  mermaids 

Pluck  and  play 
On  their  twangling  harps 

In  a  sea-green  day; 
Down  where  the  mermaids. 

Finned  and  fair. 
Sleek  with  their  combs 

Their  yellow  hair.  .  .  . 
Bates  and  Giles  — 

On  the  shingle  sat, 
Gazing  at  Turvey's 

Floating  hat. 
But  never  a  ripple 

101 


DOWN-ADOWN-DERRY 

Nor  bubble  told 
Where  he  was  supping 

Off  plates  of  gold. 
Never  an  echo 

Rilled  through  the  sea 
Of  the  feasting  and  dancing 

And  minstrelsy. 
They  called  —  called  —  called: 

Came  no  reply: 
Nought  but  the  ripples' 

Sandy  sigh. 
Then  glum  and  silent 

They  sat  instead, 
Vacantly  brooding 

On  home  and  bed, 
Till  both  together 

Stood  up  and  said:  — 
**Us  knows  not,  dreams  not, 

Where  you  be, 
Turvey,  unless 

In  the  deep  blue  sea*; 
But  excusing  silver  — 

And  it  comes  most  willing  — 
Here's  us  two  paying 

Our  forty  shilling; 
For  it's  sartin  sure,  Turvey, 

Safe  and  sound, 
You  danced  us  square,  Turvey, 

Off  the  ground!" 

102 


SADLY,   O,   SADLY 

Sadly,  O,  sadly,  the  sweet  bells  of  Baddeley 
Played  in  their  steeples  when  Robin  was  gone, 
Killed  by  an  arrow, 
Shot  by  Cock  Sparrow, 
Out  of  a  Maybush,  fragrant  and  wan. 

105 


DOWN-ADOWN-DERRY 

Grievedly,  grievedly,  tolled  distant  Shieveley, 
When  the  Dwarfs  laid  poor  Snow-white  asleep  on  the 
hill, 

Drowsed  by  an  apple, 

The  Queen,  sly  and  subtle. 
Had  cut  with  her  knife  on  the  blossomy  sill. 


106 


DOWN-ADOWN-DERRY 


THE   DWARF 

"Now,  Jinnie,  my  dear,  to  the  dwarf  be  off, 

That  lives  in  Barberry  Wood, 
And  fetch  me  some  honey,  but  be  sure  you  don't 
laugh,  — 
He  hates  little  girls  that  are  rude,  are  rude, 
He  hates  little  girls  that  are  rude." 

Jane  tapped  at  the  door  of  the  house  in  the  wood, 

And  the  dwarf  looked  over  the  wall, 
He  eyed  her  so  queer,  'twas  as  much  as  she  could 

To  keep  from  laughing  at  all,  at  all, 
To  keep  from  laughing  at  all. 

His  shoes  down  the  passage  came  clod,  clod,  clod. 

And  when  he  opened  the  door. 
He  croaked  so  harsh,  'twas  as  much  as  she  could 

To  keep  from  laughing  the  more,  the  more, 
To  keep  from  laughing  the  more. 

As  there,  with  his  bushy  red  beard,  he  stood, 

Pricked  out  to  double  its  size. 
He  squinted  so  cross,  'twas  as  much  as  she  could 

To  keep  the  tears  out  of  her  eyes,  her  eyes, 
To  keep  the  tears  out  of  her  eyes. 

109 


DOWN-ADO WN-DERRY 

He  slammed  the  door,  and  went  clod,  clod,  clod, 

But  while  in  the  porch  she  bides. 
He  squealed  so  fierce,  'twas  as  much  as  she  could 

To  keep  from  cracking  her  sides,  her  sides. 
To  keep  from  cracking  her  sides. 

He  threw  a  pumpkin  over  the  wall, 

And  melons  and  apples  beside, 
So  thick  in  the  air  that  to  see  them  all  fall, 

She  laughed,  and  laughed,  till  she  cried,  cried,  cried; 
Jane  laughed  and  laughed  till  she  cried. 

Down  fell  her  teardrops  a-pit-a-pat-pat. 

And  red  as  a  rose  she  grew;  — 
"Kah!  kah,"  said  the  dwarf,  "is  it  crying  you're  at? 

It's  the  very  worst  thing  you  could  do,  do,  do, 
It's  the  very  worst  thing  you  could  do." 

He  slipped  like  a  monkey  up  into  a  tree, 

He  shook  her  down  cherries  like  rain; 
"See  now,"  says  he,  cheeping,  "a  blackbird  I  be, 

Laugh,  laugh,  little  Jinnie,  again  —  gain  —  gain, 
Laugh,  laugh,  little  Jinnie,  again." 

Ah  me!  what  a  strange,  what  a  gladsome  duet 

From  a  house  in  the  deeps  of  a  wood  I 
Such  shrill  and  such  harsh  voices  never  met  yet 

A-laughing  as  loud  as  they  could,  could,  could, 
A-laughing  as  loud  as  they  could. 

110 


DOWN-ADOWN-DERRY 

Come  Jinnie,  come  dwarf,  cocksparrow,  and  bee, 
There's  a  ring  gaudy-green  in  the  dell, 

Sing,  sing,  ye  sweet  cherubs,  that  flit  in  the  tree; 
La!  who  can  draw  tears  from  a  well,  well,  well, 
Who  ever  drew  tears  from  a  well! 


Ill 


DOWN-ADOWN-DERRY 


LONGLEGS 

LoNGLEGS  —  he  yelled  "Coo-eel" 

And  all  across  the  combe 
Shrill  and  shrill  it  rang  —  rang  through 

The  clear  green  gloonr. 
Fairies  there  were  a-spinning, 

And  a  white  tree-maid 
Lifted  her  eyes,  and  listened 

In  her  rain-sweet  glade. 
Bunnie  to  bunnie  stamped;  old  Wat 

Chin-deep  in  bracken  sate; 
A  throstle  piped,  "I'm  by,  I'm  by!" 

Clear  to  his  timid  mate. 
And  there  was  Longlegs  straddling, 

And  hearkening  was  he, 
To  distant  Echo  thrilling  back 

Athin"Coo-ee!" 


112 


DOWN-ADOWN-DERRY 


THE  MERMAIDS 

Sand,  sand;  hills  of  sand; 

And  the  wind  where  nothing  is 
Green  and  sweet  of  the  land; 

No  grass,  no  trees. 

No  bird,  no  butterfly, 
But  hills,  hills  of  sand, 

And  a  burning  sky. 

Sea,  sea,  mounds  of  the  sea, 

Hollow,  and  dark,  and  blue, 
Flashing  incessantly 

The  whole  sea  through ; 

No  flower,  no  jutting  root, 
Only  the  floor  of  the  sea, 

With  foam  afloat. 

Blow,  blow,  winding  shells; 

And  the  watery  fish. 
Deaf  to  the  hidden  bells. 

In  the  water  splash; 
No  streaming  gold,  no  eyes, 

Watching  along  the  waves. 
But  far-blown  shells,  faint  bells, 

From  the  darkling  caves. 

116 


THE   LITTLE  CREATURE 

TwiNKUM,  twankum,  twirlum  and  twitch 
My  great  grandam  —  She  was  a  Witch. 

119 


DOWN-ADOWN-DERRY 

Mouse  in  wainscot,  Saint  in  niche  — 

My  great  grandam  —  She  was  a  Witch 

Deadly  nightshade  flowers  in  a  ditch  — 

My  great  grandam  —  She  was  a  Witch . 

Long  though  the  shroud  it  grows  stitch  by  stitch  — 

My  great  grandam  —  She  was  a  Witch 

Wean  your  weakling  before  you  breech 

My  great  grandam  —  She  was  a  Witch 

The  fattest  pig's  but  a  double  flitch  — 

My  great  grandam  —  She  was  a  Witch 

Nightjars  rattle,  owls  scritch  — 

My  great  grandam  —  She  was  a  Witch. 

Pretty  and  small, 

A  mere  nothing  at  all, 

Pinned  up  sharp  in  the  ghost  of  a  shawl, 

She'd  straddle  her  down  to  the  kirkyard  wall, 

And  mutter  and  whisper  and  call;  and  call  — 

And  —  call. 

Red  blood  out  and  black  blood  in, 
My  Nannie  says  I'm  a  child  of  sin  — 
How  did  I  choose  me  my  witchcraft  kin  I 
Know  I  as  soon  as  dark's  dreams  begin 
Snared  is  my  heart  in  a  nightmare's  gin; 
Never  from  terror  I  out  may  win ; 
So  dawn  and  dusk  I  pine,  peak,  thin, 
Scarcely  beknowing  t'other  from  which  — 
My  great  grandam  —  She  was  a  Witch. 

120 


SAM 


When  Sam  goes  back  in  memory, 

It  is  to  where  the  sea 
Breaks  on  the  shingle,  emerald-green, 

In  white  foam,  endlessly; 
He  says  —  with  small  brown  eye  on  mine 

"  I  used  to  keep  awake, 
And  lean  from  my  window  in  the  moon, 

Watching  those  billows  break. 

121 


DOWN-ADOWN-DERRY 

And  half  a  million  tiny  hands, 

And  eyes,  like  sparks  of  frost, 
Would  dance  and  come  tumbling  into  the  moon, 

On  every  breaker  tossed. 
And  all  across  from  star  to  star, 

I've  seen  the  watery  sea. 
With  not  a  single  ship  in  sight, 

Just  ocean  there,  and  me; 
And  heard  my  father  snore.    And  once, 

As  sure  as  I'm  alive. 
Out  of  those  wallowing,  moon-flecked  waves 

I  saw  a  mermaid  dive; 
Head  and  shoulders  above  the  wave. 

Plain  as  I  now  see  you, 
Combing  her  hair,  now  back,  now  front, 

Her  two  eyes  peeping  through; 
Calling  me,  *  Sam  I'  —  quietlike — 'Sam  I'  .  .  . 

But  me  ...  I  never  went. 
Making  believe  I  kind  of  thought 

Twas  some  one  else  she  meant.  .  .  . 
Wonderful  lovely  there  she  sat, 

Singing  the  night  away, 
All  in  the  solitudinous  sea 

Of  that  there  lonely  bay." 

"P'raps,"  and  he'd  smooth  his  hairless  mouth, 

"P'raps,  if  'twere  now,  my  son, 
P'raps,  if  I  heard  a  voice  say,  'Sam I*  .  .  . 

Morning  would  find  me  gone." 

122 


DOWN-ADOWN-DERRY 


THE  WITCH 

Weary  went  the  old  Witch, 

Weary  of  her  pack, 
She  sat  her  down  by  the  churchyard  wall, 

And  jerked  it  off  her  back. 

The  cord  brake,  yes,  the  cord  brake, 

Just  where  the  dead  did  lie, 
And  Charms  and  Spells  and  Sorceries 

Spilled  out  beneath  the  sky. 

Weary  was  the  old  Witch; 

She  rested  her  old  eyes 
From  the  lantern-fruited  yew  trees, 

And  the  scarlet  of  the  skies; 

And  out  the  dead  came  stumbling, 

From  every  rift  and  crack. 
Silent  as  moss,  and  plundered 

The  gaping  pack. 

They  wish  them,  three  times  over. 

Away  they  skip  full  soon: 
Bat  and  Mole  and  Leveret, 

Under  the  rising  moon; 

125 


DOWN-ADOWN-DERRY 

Owl  and  Newt  and  Nightjar: 
They  take  their  shapes  and  creep, 

Silent  as  churchyard  lichen, 
While  she  squats  asleep. 

All  of  these  dead  were  stirring: 

Each  unto  each  did  call, 
"A  Witch,  a  Witch  is  sleeping 

Under  the  churchyard  wall; 

"A  Witch,  a  Witch  is  sleeping  .  .  ." 

The  shrillness  ebbed  away; 
And  up  the  way-worn  moon  clomb  bright, 

Hard  on  the  track  of  day. 

She  shone,  high,  wan  and  silvery; 

Day's  colours  paled  and  died: 
And,  save  the  mute  and  creeping  worm, 

Nought  else  was  there  beside. 

Names  may  be  writ;  and  mounds  rise; 

Purporting,  Here  be  bones: 
But  empty  is  that  churchyard 

Of  all  save  stones. 

Owl  and  Newt  and  Nightjar, 

Leveret,  Bat  and  Mole 
Haunt  and  call  in  the  twilight. 

Where  she  slept,  poor  soul. 

126 


DOWN-ADOWN-DERRY 


THE  JOURNEY 

Heart-sick  of  his  journey  was  the  Wanderer; 

Footsore  and  parched  was  he; 
And  a  Witch  who  long  had  lurked  by  the  wayside, 

Looked  out  of  sorcery. 

"Lift  up  your  eyes,  you  lonely  Wanderer," 

She  peeped  from  her  casement  small; 
"Here's  shelter  and  quiet  to  give  you  rest,  young  man, 

And  apples  for  thirst  withal." 

And  he  looked  up  out  of  his  sad  reverie. 

And  saw  all  the  woods  in  green. 
With  birds  that  flitted  feathered  in  the  dappling, 

The  jewel-bright  leaves  between. 

And  he  lifted  up  his  face  towards  her  lattice, 

And  there,  alluring-wise, 
Slanting  through  the  silence  of  the  long  past. 

Dwelt  the  still  green  Witch's  eyes. 

And  vaguely  from  the  hiding-place  of  memory 

Voices  seemed  to  cry; 
"What  is  the  darkness  of  one  brief  life-time 

To  the  deaths  thou  hast  made  us  die?" 

129 


DOWN-ADOWN-DERRY 

"Heed  not  the  words  of  the  Enchantress 

Who  would  us  still  betray!" 
And  sad  with  the  echo  of  their  reproaches, 

Doubting,  he  turned  away. 

*i  may  not  shelter  'neath  your  roof,  lady, 
Nor  in  this  wood's  green  shadow  seek  repose. 

Nor  will  your  apples  quench  the  thirst 
A  homesick  wanderer  knows." 

"'Homesick,  forsooth!'"  she  softly  mocked  him: 

And  the  beauty  in  her  face 
Made  in  the  sunshine  pale  and  trembling 

A  stillness  in  that  place. 

And  he  sighed,  as  if  in  fear,  the  young  Wanderer, 

Looking  to  left  and  to  right, 
Where  the  endless  narrow  road  swept  onward, 

In  the  distance  lost  to  sight. 

And  there  fell  upon  his  sense  the  briar. 

Haunting  the  air  with  its  breath, 
And  the  faint  shrill  sweetness  of  the  birds'  throats, 

Their  tent  of  leaves  beneath. 

And  there  was  the  Witch,  in  no  wise  heeding; 

Her  arbour,  and  fruit-filled  dish. 
Her  pitcher  of  well-water,  and  clear  damask  — 

All  that  the  weary  wish. 

130 


DOWN-ADOWN-DERRY 

And  the  last  gold  beam  across  the  green  world 

Faltered  and  failed,  as  he 
Remembered  his  solitude  and  the  dark  night's 

Inhospitality. 

And  he  looked  upon  the  Witch  with  eyes  of  sorrow 

In  the  darkening  of  the  day; 
And  turned  him  aside  into  oblivion; 

And  the  voices  died  away.  .  .  . 

And  the  Witch  stepped  down  from  her  casement: 

In  the  hush  of  night  he  heard 
The  calling  and  wailing  in  dewy  thicket 

Of  bird  to  hidden  bird. 

And  gloom  stole  all  her  burning  crimson, 

Remote  and  faint  in  space 
As  stars  in  gathering  shadow  of  the  evening 

Seemed  now  her  phantom  face. 

And  one  night's  rest  shall  be  a  myriad, 

Midst  dreams  that  come  and  go; 
Till  heedless  fate,  unmoved  by  weakness,  bring  him 

This  same  strange  by-way  through: 

To  the  beauty  of  earth  that  fades  in  ashes. 

The  lips  of  welcome,  and  the  eyes 
More  beauteous  than  the  feeble  shine  of  Hesper 

Lone  in  the  lightening  skies: 

131 


DOWN-ADOWN-DERRY 

Till  once  again  the  Witch's  guile  entreat  him; 

But,  worn  with  wisdom,  he 
Steadfast  and  cold  shall  choose  the  dark  night's 

Inhospitality. 


132 


DOWN-ADOWN-DERRY 


AS   LUCY  WENT  A-WALKING 

As  Lucy  went  a-walking  one  morning  cold  and  fine, 
There  sate  three  crows  upon  a  bough,  and  three  times 

three  is  nine: 
Then  "O!"  said  Lucy,  in  the  snow,  "it's  very  plain  to 

see 
A  witch  has  been  a-walking  in  the  fields  in  front 

of  me." 

Then  stept  she  light  and  heedfully  across  the  frozen 

snow. 
And  plucked  a  bunch  of  elder-twigs  that  near  a  pool  did 

grow: 
And,  by  and  by,  she  comes  to  seven  shadows  in  one 

place 
Stretched  black  by  seven  poplar-trees  against  the  sun's 

bright  face. 

She  looks  to  left,  she  looks  to  right,  and  in  the  midst 

she  sees 
A  little  pool  of  water  clear  and  frozen  'neath  the 

trees; 
Then  down  beside  its  margent  in  the  crusty  snow  she 

kneels. 
And  hears  a  magic  belfry  a-ringing  with  sweet  bells. 

134 


DOWN-ADOWN-D.ERRY 

Clear  sang'the  faint  far  merry  peal,  then  silenceon  the  air, 
And  icy-still  the  frozen  pool  and  poplars  standing  there: 
Then  lol  as  Lucy  turned  her  head  and  looked  along  the 

snow 
She  sees  a  witch  —  a. witch  she  sees,  come  frisking  to 

and  fro. 

Her  scarlet,  buckled  shoes  they  clicked,  her  heels  a- 

twinkling  high; 
With  mistletoe  her  steeple-hat  bobbed  as  she  capered  by  ; 
But  never  a  dint,  or  mark,  or  print,  in  the  whiteness 

for  to  see, 
Though  danced  she  high,   though  danced  she  fast, 

though  danced  she  lissomely. 

It  seemed  'twas  diamonds  in  the  air,  or  little  flakes  of 

frost ; 
It  seemed  'twas  golden  smoke  around,  or  sunbeams 

lightly  tossed; 
It  seemed  an  elfin  music  like  to  reeds  and  warblers  rose: 
"Nay!"  Lucy  said,  "it  is  the  wind  that  through  the 

branches  flows." 

And  as  she  peeps,  and  as  she  peeps,  'tis  no  more  one, 

but  three, 
And  eye  of  bat,  and  downy  wing  of  owl  within  the  tree. 
And  the  bells  of  that  sweet  belfry  a-pealing  as  before 
And  now  it  is  not  three  she  sees,  and  now  it  is  not 

four  — 

135 


DOWN-ADOWN-DERRY 

•*0!  who  are  ye,"  sweet  Lucy  cries,  "that  in  a  dreadful 

ring, 
All  muffled  up  in  brindled  shawls,  do  caper,  frisk,  and 

spring?" 
"A  witch,  and  witches,  one  and  nine,"  they  straight  to 

her  reply. 
And  looked  upon  her  narrowly,  with  green  and  needle 

eye. 

Then  Lucy  sees  in  clouds  of  gold  green  cherry  trees  up- 

grow, 
And  bushes  of  red  roses  that  bloomed  above  the  snow; 
She  smells,  all  faint,  the  almond-boughs  blowing  so 

wild  and  fair 
And  doves  with  milky  eyes  ascend  fluttering  in  the  air. 

Clear  flowers  she  sees,  like  tulip  buds,  go  floating  by 
like  birds. 

With  wavering  tips  that  warbled  sweetly  strange  en- 
chanted words; 

And,  as  with  ropes  of  amethyst,  the  boughs  with  lamps 
were  hung, 

And  clusters  of  green  emeralds  like  fruit  upon  them 
clung. 

"0  witches  nine,  ye  dreadful  nine,  O  witches  seven  and 
three  I 

Whence  come  these  wondrous  things  that  I  this  Christ- 
mas morning  see?" 

136 


DOWN-ADOWN-DERRY 

But  straight,  as  in  a  clap,  when  she  of  Christmas  says 

the  word, 
Here  is  the  snow,  and  there  the  sun,  but  never  bloom 

nor  bird; 

Nor  warbling  flame,  nor  gleaming-rope  of  amethyst 

there  shows. 
Nor  bunches  of  green  emeralds,  nor  belfry,  well,  and 

rose. 
Nor  cloud  of  gold,  nor  cherry-tree,  nor  witch  in  brindle 

shawl. 
But  like  a  dream  that  vanishes,  so  vanished  were  they 

all. 

When  Lucy  sees,  and  only  sees  three  crows  upon  a 

bough. 
And  earthly  twigs,  and  bushes  hidden  white  in  driven 

snow. 
Then  "01    said  Lucy,  "three  times  three  is  nine —  I 

plainly  see 
Some  witch  has  been  a-walking  in  the  fields  in  front  of 

me." 


137 


THE  WORLD  OF  DREAM 


DOWN-ADOWN-DERRY 


BEWARE! 

An  ominous  bird  sang  from  its  branch 

"Beware,  O  Wanderer! 
Night  'mid  her  flowers  of  glamourie  spilled 

Draws  swiftly  near: 

**  Night  with  her  darkened  caravans, 
Piled  deep  with  silver  and  myrrh. 

Draws  from  the  portals  of  the  East, 
O  Wanderer  near. 

"Night  who  walks  plumed  through  the  fields 

Of  stars  that  strangely  stir  — 
Smitten  to  fire  by  the  sandals  of  him 

Who  walks  with  her." 


140 


SOME  ONE 

Some  one  came  knocking 
At  my  wee,  small  door; 

Some  one  came  knocking, 
I'm  sure  —  sure  —  sure; 

143 


D  O  W  N  -  A  D  O  W  N  -  D  E  R  R  Y 

I  listened,  I  opened, 

I  looked  to  left  and  right, 
But  nought  there  was  a-stirring 

In  the  still  dark  night; 
Only  the  busy  beetle 

Tap-tapping  in  the  wall, 
Only  from  the  forest 

The  screech-owl's  call. 
Only  the  cricket  whistling 

While  the  dewdrops  fall. 
So  I  know  not  who  came  knocking, 

At  all,  at  all,  at  all. 


144 


DOWN-ADOWN-DERRY 


MUSIC 

When  music  sounds,  gone  is  the  earth  I  know, 
And  all  her  lovely  things  even  lovelier  grow; 
Her  flowers  in  vision  flame,  her  forest  trees 
Lift  burdened  branches,  stilled  with  ecstasies. 

When  music  sounds,  out  of  the  water  rise 
Naiads  whose  beauty  dims  my  waking  eyes, 
Rapt  in  strange  dreams  burns  each  enchanted  face, 
With  solemn  echoing  stirs  their  dwelling-place. 

When  music  sounds,  all  that  I  was  I  am 
Ere  to  this  haunt  of  brooding  dust  I  came; 
While  from  Time's  woods  break  into  distant  song 
The  swift-winged  hours,  as  I  haste  along. 


147 


HAUNTED 

The  rabbit  in  his  burrow  keeps 
No  guarded  watch,  in  peace  he  sleeps; 
The  wolf  that  howls  in  challenging  night 
Cowers  to  her  lair  at  morning  light; 
The  simplest  bird  entwines  a  nest 
Where  she  may  lean  her  lovely  breast, 
Couched  in  the  silence  of  the  bough. 
But  thou,  O  man,  what  rest  hast  thou? 

149 


DOWN-ADOWN-DERRY 

Thy  emptiest  solitude  can  bring 

Only  a  subtler  questioning 

In  thy  divided  heart.    Thy  bed 

Recalls  at  dawn  what  midnight  said. 

Seek  how  thou  wilt  to  feign  content, 

Thy  flaming  ardour's  quickly  spent; 

Soon  thy  last  company  is  gone, 

And  leaves  thee  —  with  thyself  —  alone. 

Pomp  and  great  friends  may  hem  thee  round, 
A  thousand  busy  tasks  be  found; 
Earth's  thronging  beauties  may  beguile 
Thy  longing  lovesick  heart  awhile; 
And  pride,  like  clouds  of  sunset,  spread 
A  changing  glory  round  thy  head; 
But  fade  will  all;  and  thou  must  come, 
Hating  thy  journey,  homeless,  home. 

Rave  how  thou  wilt;  unmoved,  remote, 
That  inward  presence  slumbers  not. 
Frets  out  each  secret  from  thy  breast, 
Gives  thee  no  rally,  pause,  nor  rest. 
Scans  close  thy  very  thoughts,  lest  they 
Should  sap  his  patient  power  away. 
Answers  thy  wrath  with  peace,  thy  cry 
With  tenderest  taciturnity. 


150 


THEY  TOLD  ME 


They  told  me  Pan  was  dead,  but  I 
Oft  marvelled  who  it  was  that  sang 

Down  the  green  valleys  languidly 
Where  the  grey  elder-thickets  hang. 

151 


DOWN-ADOWN-DERRY 

Sometimes  I  thought  it  was  a  bird 
My  soul  had  charged  with  sorcery; 

Sometimes  it  seemed  my  own  heart  heard 
Inland  the  sorrow  of  the  sea. 

But  even  where  the  primrose  sets 
The  seal  of  her  pale  loveliness, 

I  found  amid  the  violets 
Tears  of  an  antique  bitterness. 


152 


THE   SUNKEN   GARDEN 

Speak  not  —  whisper  not; 
Here  bloweth  thyme  and  bergamot; 
Softly  on  the  evening  hour, 
Secret  herbs  their  spices  shower. 
Dark-spiked  rosemary  and  myrrh, 
Lean-stalked,  purple  lavender; 
Hides  within  her  bosom,  too, 
All  her  sorrows,  bitter  rue. 

153 


DOWN-ADOWN-DERRY 

Breathe  not  —  trespass  not ; 
Of  this  green  and  darkling  spot, 
Latticed  from  the  moon's  beams, 
Perchance  a  distant  dreamer  dreams; 
Perchance  upon  its  darkening  air. 
The  unseen  ghosts  of  children  fare, 
Faintly  swinging,  sway  and  sweep. 
Like  lovely  sea-flowers  in  its  deep; 
While,  unmoved,  to  watch  and  ward, 
Amid  its  gloomed  and  daisied  sward. 
Stands  with  bowed  and  dewy  head 
That  one  little  leaden  Lad. 


154 


DOWN-ADOWN-DERRY 


SNOW 

No  breath  of  wind, 
No  gleam  of  sun  — 
Still  the  white  snow 
Swirls  softly  down  — 
Twig  and  bough 
And  blade  and  thorn 
All  in  an  icy 
Quiet,  forlorn. 
Whispering,  nestling. 
Through  the  air. 
On  sill  and  stone, 
Roof  —  everywhere, 
It  heaps  its  powdery 
Crystal  flakes. 
Of  every  tree 
A  mountain  makes: 
Till  pale  and  faint 
At  shut  of  day, 
Stoops  from  the  West 
One  wintry  ray. 
Then,  feathered  in  fire. 
Where  ghosts  the  moon, 

155 


DOWN-ADOWN-DERRY 

A  robin  shrills 

His  lonely  tune; 

And  from  her  dark-gnarled 

Yew-tree  lair 

Flits  she  who  had  been 

In  hiding  there. 


156 


T3V.  X.aXS^cp-'^ 


THE  WORLD  OF  DREAM 

Now,  through  the  dusk 
With  muffled  bell 

159 


DOWN-ADOWN-DERRY 

The  Dustman  comes 

The  World  to  tell, 
Night's  elfin  lanterns 

Burn  and  gleam 
In  the  twilight,  wonderful 

World  of  Dream. 

Hollow  and  dim 

Sleep's  boat  doth  ride, 
Heavily  still 

At  the  waterside. 
Patter,  patter, 

The  children  come, 
Yawning  and  sleepy, 

Out  of  the  gloom. 

Like  droning  bees 

In  a  garden  green. 
Over  the  thwarts 

They  clamber  in. 
And  lovely  Sleep 

With  long-drawn  oar 
Turns  away 

From  the  whispering  shore. 

Over  the  water 

Like  roses  glide 
Her  hundreds  of  passengers 

Packed  inside, 

160 


DOWN-ADOWN-DERRY 

To  where  in  her  garden 

Tremble  and  gleam 
The  harps  and  lamps 

Of  the  World  of  Dream. 


161 


DOWN-ADOWN-DERRY 


QUEEN   DJENIRA 

When  Queen  Djenira  slumbers  through 

The  sultry  noon's  repose, 
From  out  her  dreams,  as  soft  she  lies, 

A  faint  thin  music  flows. 

Her  lovely  hands  lie  narrow  and  pale 

With  gilded  nails,  her  head 
Couched  in  its  banded  nets  of  gold 

Lies  pillowed  on  her  bed. 

The  little  Nubian  boys  who  fan 
Her  cheeks  and  tresses  clear, 

Wonderful,  wonderful,  wonderful  voices 
Seem  afar  to  hear. 

They  slide  their  eyes,  and  nodding,  say, 
"Queen  Djenira  walks  to-day 

The  courts  of  the  lord  Pthamasar 
Where  the  sweet  birds  of  Psuthys  are.' 

And  those  of  earth  about  her  porch 

Of  shadow  cool  and  grey 
Their  sidelong  beaks  in  silence  lean, 

And  silent  flit  away. 

162 


NIGHTFALL 

The  last  light  fails  —  that  shallow  pool  of  day! 
The  coursers  of  the  dark  stamp  down  to  drink, 
Arch  their  wild  necks,  lift  their  wild  heads  and  neigh; 
Their  drivers,  gathering  at  the  water-brink, 
With  eyes  ashine  from  out  their  clustering  hair, 
Utter  their  hollow  speech,  or  gaze  afar, 
Rapt  in  irradiant  reverie,  to  where 
Languishes,  lost  in  light,  the  evening  star. 

165 


DOWN-ADOWN-DERRY 

Come  the  wood-nymphs  to  dance  within  the  glooms, 

Calling  these  charioteers  with  timbrels'  din; 

Ashen  with  twilight  the  dark  forest  looms 

O'er  the  nocturnal  beasts  that  prowl  within 

"O  glory  of  beauty  which  the  world  makes  fair!" 

Pant  they  their  serenading  on  the  air. 

Sound  the  loud  hooves,  and  all  abroad  the  sky 

The  lusty  charioteers  their  stations  take; 

Planet  to  planet  do  the  sweet  Loves  fly, 

And  in  the  zenith  silver  music  wake. 

Cities  of  men,  in  blindness  hidden  low. 

Fume  their  faint  flames  to  that  arched  firmament, 

But  all  the  dwellers  in  the  lonely  know 

The  unearthly  are  abroad,  and  weary  and  spent, 

With  rush  extinguished,  to  their  dreaming  go. 

And  world  and  night  and  star-enclustered  space 

The  glory  of  beauty  are  in  one  enravished  face. 


166 


DOWN-ADOWN-DERRY 


CUMBERLAND 

The  old,  old  King  of  Cumberland 
Awoke  with  bristling  beard  — 

Crouched  listening  in  the  darkness 
To  a  sound  that  he  had  heard. 

He  leaned  upon  his  foursquare  bed, 

His  thumb  beneath  his  chin; 
Hearkening  after  that  which  had  stirred 

The  dream  that  he  was  in. 

The  old,  old  King  of  Cumberland 
Muttered,  "  Twas  not  the  sea. 

Gushing  upon  Shlievlisskin  rocks, 
That  wakened  me. 

"Thunder  from  midmost  night  it  was  not; 

For  yonder  at  the  bars 
Burn  to  their  summer  setting  her 

Clear  constellated  stars." 

The  old,  old  King  of  Cumberland 

Mused  yet,  "  Rats  ever  did 
Rove  from  their  holes,  and  clink  my  spurs, 

And  gnaw  my  coverlid. 

167 


DOWN-ADOWN-DERRY 

"Oft  hath  a  little  passing  breeze 

Along  this  valance  stirred; 
But  in  this  stagnant  calm  'twas  not 

The  wind  I  heard. 

"Some  keener,  stranger,  quieter,  closer 

Voice  it  was  me  woke.  ..." 
And  silence,  like  a  billow,  drowned 

The  word  he  spoke. 

His  chamber  walls  were  cloaked  with  dark; 

Shadow  did  thickly  brood, 
And  in  the  vague,  all-listening  night 

A  presence  stood.  .  .  . 

Sudden  a  gigantic  hand  he  thrust 

Into  his  bosom  cold. 
Where  now  no  surging  restless  beat 

Its  long  tale  told: 

Swept  on  him  then,  as  there  he  sate, 

Terror  icy  chill; 
Twas  silence  that  had  him  awoke  — 

His  heart  stood  still. 


168 


THE   LITTLE  GREEN  ORCHARD 

Some  one  is  always  sitting  there, 

In  the  little  green  orchard; 
Even  when  the  sun  is  high 
In  noon's  unclouded  sky, 
And  faintly  droning  goes 
The  bee  from  rose  to  rose, 
Some  one  in  shadow  is  sitting  there. 

In  the  little  green  orchard. 

171 


DOWN-ADOWN-DERRY 

Yes,  and  when  twilight  is  falling  softly 

In  the  little  green  orchard; 
When  the  grey  dew  distils 
And  every  flower-cup  fills; 
When  the  last  blackbird  says, 
"What  —  what!"  and  goes  her  way  —  s-shl 
I  have  heard  voices  calling  softly 

In  the  little  green  orchard. 

Not  that  I  am  afraid  of  being  there, 

In  the  little  green  orchard; 
Why,  when  the  moon's  been  bright, 
Shedding  her  lonesome  light. 
And  moths  like  ghosties  come. 
And  the  horned  snail  leaves  home: 
I've  sat  there,  whispering  and  listening  there, 

In  the  little  green  orchard. 

Only  it's  strange  to  be  feeling  there. 

In  the  little  green  orchard; 
Whether  you  paint  or  draw, 
Dig,  hammer,  chop,  or  saw; 
When  you  are  most  alone. 
All  but  the  silence  gone  .  .  . 
Some  one  is  waiting  and  watching  there. 

In  the  little  green  orchard. 


172 


THE  TRUANTS 

Ere  my  heart  beats  too  coldly  and  faintly 

To  remember  sad  things,  yet  be  gay, 
I  would  sing  a  brief  song  of  the  world's  little  children 
Magic  hath  stolen  away. 

The  primroses  scattered  by  April, 

The  stars  of  the  wide  Milky  Way, 
Cannot  outnumber  the  hosts  of  the  children 
Magic  hath  stolen  away. 

The  buttercup  green  of  the  meadows, 

The  snow  of  the  blossoming  may, 
Lovelier  are  not  than  the  legions  of  children 
Magic  hath  stolen  away. 

173 


DOWN-ADOWN-DERRY 

The  waves  tossing  surf  in  the  moonbeam, 

The  albatross  lone  on  the  spray, 
Alone  know  the  tears  wept  in  vain  for  the  children 
Magic  hath  stolen  away. 

In  vain:  for  at  hush  of  the  evening 

When  the  stars  twinkle  into  the  grey, 
Seems  to  echo  the  far-away  calling  of  children 
Magic  hath  stolen  away. 


174 


DOWN-ADOWN-DERRY 


THE   LITTLE  SALAMANDER 

TO  MARGOT 

When  I  go  free, 

I  think  'twill  be 

A  night  of  stars  and  snow, 

And  the  wild  fires  of  frost  shall  light 

My  footsteps  as  I  go ; 

Nobody  —  nobody  will  be  there 

With  groping  touch,  or  sight. 

To  see  me  in  my  bush  of  hair 

Dance  burning  through  the  night. 


177 


DOWN-ADOWN-DERRY 


VOICES 

Who  is  it  calling  by  the  darkened  river 
Where  the  moss  lies  smooth  and  deep, 

And  the  dark  trees  lean  unmoving  arms, 
Silent  and  vague  in  sleep. 

And  the  bright-heeled  constellations  pass 
In  splendour  through  the  gloom; 

Who  is  it  calling  o'er  the  darkened  river 
In  music,  "Come!"? 

Who  is  it  wandering  in  the  summer  meadows 
Where  the  children  stoop  and  play 

In  the  green  faint-scented  flowers,  spinning 
The  guileless  hours  away? 

Who  touches  their  bright  hair?  who  puts 
A  wind-shell  to  each  cheek, 

Whispering  betwixt  its  breathing  silences, 
"Seek!  seek!"? 

Who  is  it  watching  in  the  gathering  twilight 
When  the  curfew  bird  hath  flown 

On  eager  wings,  from  song  to  silence. 
To  its  darkened  nest  alone? 

Who  takes  for  brightening  eyes  the  stars, 
For  locks  the  still  moonbeam. 

Sighs  through  the  dews  of  evening  peacefully 
Falling,  "Dream!" 

178 


.y^.>mi^^'' '^-^^i 


DOWN-ADOWN-DERRY 


SORCERY 

"What  voice  is  that  I  hear 

Crying  across  the  pool?" 
"It  is  the  voice  of  Pan  you  hear, 
Crying  his  sorceries  shrill  and  clear, 

In  the  twilight  dim  and  cool." 

"What  song  is  it  he  sings, 

Echoing  from  afar; 
While  the  sweet  swallow  bends  her  wings, 
Filling  the  air  with  twitterings, 

Beneath  the  brightening  star?" 

The  woodman  answered  me, 

His  faggot  on  his  back:  — 
"Seek  not  the  face  of  Pan  to  see; 
Flee  from  his  clear  note  summoning  thee 

To  darkness  deep  and  black! 

"He  dwells  in  thickest  shade, 

Piping  his  notes  forlorn 
Of  sorrow  never  to  be  allayed; 
Turn  from  his  coverts  sad 

Of  twilight  unto  morn!" 

181 


DOWN-ADOWN-DERRY 

The  woodman  passed  away 

Along  the  forest  path ; 
His  ax  shone  keen  and  grey 
In  the  last  beams  of  day: 

And  all  was  still  as  death:  — 

Only  Pan  singing  sweet 
Out  of  Earth's  fragrant  shade; 

I  dreamed  his  eyes  to  meet, 
And  found  but  shadow  laid 

Before  my  tired  feet. 

Comes  no  more  dawn  to  me, 

Nor  bird  of  open  skies. 
Only  his  woods'  deep  gloom  I  see 

Till,  at  the  end  of  all,  shall  rise, 
Afar  and  tranquilly, 
Death's  stretching  sea. 


182 


DOWN-ADOWN-DERRY 


MELMILLO 

Three  and  thirty  birds  there  stood 

In  an  elder  in  a  wood; 

Called  Melmillo  —  flew  off  three, 

Leaving  thirty  in  a  tree; 

Called  Melmillo  —  nine  now  gone, 

And  the  boughs  held  twenty-one; 

Called  Melmillo  —  eighteen 

Left  but  three  to  nod  and  preen ; 

Called  Melmillo  —  three  —  two  —  one 

Now  of  birds  were  feathers  none. 

Then  stole  slim  Melmillo  in 

To  that  wood  all  dusk  and  green. 

And  with  lean  long  palms  outspread 

Softly  a  strange  dance  did  tread; 

Not  a  note  of  music  she 

Had  for  echoing  company; 

All  the  birds  were  flown  to  rest 

In  the  hollow  of  her  breast; 

In  the  wood  thorn,  elder,  willow  — 

Danced  alone  —  lone  danced  Melmillo. 


187 


DOWN-ADOWN-DERRY 


THE  QUIET   ENEMY 

Hearken!  now  the  hermit  bee 
Drones  a  quiet  threnody; 
Greening  on  the  stagnant  pool 
The  criss-cross  light  is  beautiful; 
In  the  venomed  yew  tree  wings 
Preen  and  flit.  The  linnet  sings. 

Gradually  the  brave  sun 
Sinks  to  a  day's  journey  done; 
In  the  marshy  flats  abide 
Mists  to  muffle  midnight-tide. 
Puffed  within  the  belfry  tower 
Hungry  owls  drowse  out  their  hour. 

Walk  in  beauty.    Vaunt  thy  rose. 
Flaunt  thy  poisonous  loveliness! 
Pace  for  pace  with  thee  there  goes 
A  shape  that  hath  not  come  to  bless. 
I,  thine  enemy?  .  .  .  Nay,  nay! 
I  can  only  watch,  and  wait 
Patient  treacherous  time  away, 
Hold  ajar  the  wicket  gate. 


188 


MISTLETOE 

Sitting  under  the  mistletoe 

(Pale-green,  fairy  mistletoe), 

One  last  candle  burning  low. 

All  the  sleepy  dancers  gone, 

Just  one  candle  burning  on. 

Shadows  lurking  everywhere: 

Some  one  came,  and  kissed  me  there. 

191 


DOWN-ADOWN-DERRY 

Tired  I  was;  my  head  would  go 
Nodding  under  the  mistletoe 
(Pale-green,  fairy  mistletoe), 
No  footsteps  came,  no  voice,  but  only. 
Just  as  I  sat  there,  sleepy,  lonely, 
Stooped  in  the  still  and  shadowy  air 
Lips  unseen  —  and  kissed  me  there. 


192 


DOWN-ADOWN-DERRY 


NOT   I 

As  I  came  out  of  Wiseman's  Street, 
The  air  was  thick  with  driving  sleet; 
Crossing  over  Proudman's  Square, 
Cold  clouds  and  louring  dulled  the  air; 
But  as  I  turned  to  Goodman's  Lane, 
The  burning  sun  came  out  again; 
And  on  the  roof  of  Children's  Row 
In  solemn  glory  shone  the  snow. 
There  did  I  lodge;  there  hope  to  die: 
Envying  no  man  —  no,  not  I. 


195 


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